


Bloodlines

by morbidlypicturesque



Series: The Ties That Bind ( A Caterina Cardinale Saga ) [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: 1920s, Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Everyone Thinks They're Together, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Family Issues, Godmother - Freeform, Heartbreak, Historically Accurate, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Italian Character(s), Italian Mafia, Multi, Mutual Pining, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Past Abuse, Peaky Blinders - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, they're all traumatised by war, this slow burn will make you rip your hair our, tommy shelby - Freeform, wwi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-31 20:53:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 87,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbidlypicturesque/pseuds/morbidlypicturesque
Summary: she was an Italian mafia heiress ; he was the King of Birminghamor in which Caterina Cardinale, heiress of Birmingham’s notorious Italian mafia, gets tangled up in some murky business with the flat cap wielding gang and their enigmatic leader, Tommy Shelby





	1. BLOODLINES

**BLOODLINES**

_madchen amick as_

_ **CATERINA CARDINALE ** _

_ ** <https://pin.it/y5a622b7lk7v7x> ** _

_ **“she’s whiskey in a teacup”** _

_cillian murphy as_

_ **THOMAS SHELBY** _

_ ** <https://pin.it/pyavthhhgojs4w> ** _

_ **”clever as the devil and twice as pretty”** _

_alex turner as_

_ **FRANCISCO CARDINALE**_

[ _ **https://pin.it/p75h2bt7rrtjuy** _ ](https://pin.it/p75h2bt7rrtjuy)

_ **”i wish i didn’t come back”** _

_marcello mastroianni as_

_ **ROBERTO CARDINALE**_

_ ** <https://pin.it/t2biqr7b7x4uhc> ** _

_ **“nothing is sweeter than power over the powerful”** _

_the peaky blinders cast as_

_ **THEIR RESPECTIVE CHARACTERS** _

_ **DISCLAMER & WARNING ** _

I do **not** own Peaky Blinders nor any of it's characters. All credit goes to the BBC.

English is not my first language, so feel free to correct any grammar errors.

All the original characters ; the Cardinale family and the Italian Gang , and the plot lines waved through the plot of the series, belong to me. 

In hopes of being as authentic as possible, I used real locations in Birmingham and England, carefully studying their history so I can fit them into the story.

This story will contain themes such as : 

ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ , ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ , 

ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, 

ᴇxᴛʀᴇᴍᴇ ᴘʀᴏғᴀɴɪᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴀᴄɪᴀʟ sʟᴜʀs, 

ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴛᴏᴘɪᴄs, 

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴀɢᴇ ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ sᴍᴏᴋɪɴɢ, 

ᴅʀᴜɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟᴄᴏʜᴏʟ ᴜsᴇ & ᴀʙᴜsᴇ


	2. PROLOGUE

**PROLOGUE**

_ **1914!**_

**THEY SAY THE FIRST CASUALTY** of war is innocence.

When she was five, she bit her oldest brother Alessandro for taking away her favourite doll - the one father brought her from London, with green and golden ribbons in her hair - and in the process ruining it as he and his friends thought it incredibly funny to gauge it's eyes out and dangle it in front of her window, scaring her witless with it.

Consumed by rage she left an imprint on his arm, so deep that the boy of eleven at the time sobbed uncontrollably all the while their mother stitched up the wound.

At eight she practiced her addition by counting the bottles of whiskey at her fathers warehouse by the canal. _( even later she was very best at numbers, soon enough taking over the overseeing of the shipments )_

She broke Bessie Stone's nose at eleven for mocking her, saying she would end up a_ lawless, gangster hussy_, just like her mother.

When Roberto Cardinale was called up by her teachers at St. Josephs to reprimand her, he found her grinning, happily showing off her newly chipped front tooth.

O_h I'll be a lawless hussy, alright,_ she had told him later while licking a gelato at one of their parlors, perfectly carefree as if she hadn't ruined the poor girls face, _but she ain't going to call me that in the face, or I'll give her a third eye._

Beneath the façade of a spoiled teenager, red lipped smirks and ermine coats, brewed a chained tempest, an inherited bloodlust concealed by a pair of charming brown eyes, waiting for a moment to unleash the suffocating ambitions dancing around her head.

And it did come.

At her ripe age of eighteen, as Europe was plunged into the bloodiest war yet, the keys of an empire were passed into her hands.

As the _three Cardinale Devils _boarded the train headed to war zone, their enemies were not quite aware they left the very worst of them behind.


	3. I | STIRRING TROUBLE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an unexpected arrival in Birmingham speaks of troubling times to come

**I | STIRRING TROUBLE**

_ **1919!**_

** A SMALL, COAT CLAD FIGURE** rushed down the Bordesley street, tightly clutching a leather bound ledger at her side. A girl of no more than twenty years offered tight lipped smiles to the metal factory workers passing by and in turn received a curt bob or a raised hat in a salute.

It was an expensive coat, for certain; pale grey tweed that flapped around her knees, exposing a skirt made of the same material underneath, wide lapels more similar to the men's uniforms than the fur trimmed extravagances most ladies fancied, and a narrow waist giving her a boyish figure.

One would consider her appearance out of place - black curls flying around her face, dainty little hands that had never seen a day of hard work and eyes with far too much life for a place like that - until they learned her name.

Caterina Cardinale rounded the corner to find herself in front of a _Trattoria Tavolieri_. Muttering a _buongiorno_ to Antonio Tavolieri sitting up front, peeling some potatoes, cigarette lazily hanging from his mustached lip, she pushed past the staff through the bustling kitchen and pantry, finally opening the backdoor of what seemed to be another store room.

Throwing them open, a cloud of smoke and noise overcame her senses. Dozens of men rushed around the polished saloon of Cardinale Import Company - restaurant owners and fruit retailers for the eyes of the law - some sifting through the papers, others polishing their guns, or waiting for their audience with the capo.

What they actually sold was far from Sicilian lemons and oranges.

Much more men milled around the family office ever since father and Francis returned, she noted, though it was no surprise. A great many of them served in the war, too.

A great many of them never came back either.

Squinting at the smoke filled room she spotted her father listening to the reports of their informants, his greying brow furrowing in confusion and annoyance. As the two departed she quickly crossed the room and dropped the ledger onto his desk stopping his musing in the process.

He glanced first towards her and then proceeded to open the last written page. Caterina gnawed at her lower lip, waiting for the sign that everything was in order. She already knew it was, she made sure of it and counted the bottles twice on her own before sending them off to London, a routine trade she's been keeping since the men were away.

It annoyed her endlessly- the constant reporting back to her father, no more making deals on her own, the patronising smiles he offered her as if she was still a 18 year old girl they left behind.

"Right, well." sighed Roberto Cardinale, leaning into his leather armchair, glasses slipping down his thin nose. "If you'd be so kind to update me."

It was hard to remember the dark haired, olive skinned man that existed before the old man with sunken, wrinkled face and tufts of grey atop his head.

Once, he had been the most eligible bachelor in Northern England, having amassed a fortune by loan sharking and cigarette trafficking. Then his future wife, Caterina's mother, brought connections and men as her dowry. Her father had been a fierce gang leader in Palermo and a dotting father to his only daughter Vittorina, so when she decided to settle in England he sent a dozen Italian families with her to create a better life in Birmingham and protect her. They took up residence in what is today called Little Italy.

Exhaling through her nose she took back the book and casually leaned on the desk.

"First, 250 bottles of brown and 250 of white Irish for London, _Portolloni_ said they'll be increasing the order next month for the races so we'll have to adapt. Then we've two late payments down in Aston, I reckon we send the_ Varr_i brothers and perhaps _Angeli_ to shake 'em up a bit," she said, raising her head from the numbers for confirmation.

When he nodded approvingly she snapped the book shut. "Now you tell me what did those two," she pointedly looked in the direction of the two informants fixing their hats and exiting the room, "tell you that got you frowning, _papà_ ?"

He leaned in slightly, motioning her to bend down a bit. "An Irish copper has been transferred from Belfast. Back there he'd been fighting the IRA and recruited some Protestant coppers to help him clean up Birmingham, they say. But I tell ya there's a bigger fish in the game."

His voice dropped so only she could hear him. "Our boys say a gun shipment has been stolen from the BSA. I reckon that's really why he's here, and I can bloody bet he'll turn the city upside down to find them."

At that he straightened up as best as he could. He found he could do little as good as he used to back then, but then again, losing both your legs up to the knee made even the most mundane things like sitting difficult.

Caterina tried, _by the Good Lord she really did_ ; she had paid two nurses to clean him and dress him but they had quit by the end of the week.

_He's ripe for Bedlam that one, _one of them had said, and he threw things at them - frames and plates and whisky bottles - completely disillusioned at times.

He'd trash and turn, calling out names she didn't know,_ fallen comrades most likely_, until collapsing from exhaustion.

Old Sue took over since then, a washerwoman Kat knew since she was a child. The woman was as strong as a bull and unyielding, deaf to the insults coming from the old Major.

"You think he'll mess with our business?" she inquired. The last thing they needed now was a copper meddling with their affairs._ "Gli mostrerò dove è arrivato, sbirro cazz-"_

He cut her tirade off, making an odd hand movement as he concluded.

"We'll have to keep low for a while. Francisco, come here!"

The said man's head shot up, crossing the saloon with quick strides and stopping behind Caterina, gently leaning over her shoulder.

The Cardinale patriarch gave his children a levelled stare. "I'll be going to Bath, I think. A bit of change of scenery might do me good," at that he chuckled mirthlessly, "And a few young nurses to keep me company. I trust the two of you'll keep the place going?"

The two of them nodded diligently. Content, he dismissed them with a flick of his hand and returned to his morning papers.

* * *

** A DAY LATER**, as she watched him leave, closely followed by two cars of his most loyal men, she wondered if there was a special place in Hell reserved for her for wishing he had died instead of Alessandro.

Alessio would have let her expand to importing silk that she could then trade with in the China Quarter. He wouldn't hang above her head like father did, controlling her every move, suffocating her.

_They tip their hats at me, _she knew_. They fear me, respect me. I fed their wives and children while they served the Country._

"I say we just shot him out of his misery." she said offhandedly, busying herself with lightning the cigarette between her pale lips.

Practically hearing Francisco's glare she lifted her head up.

"What? He's gone soft, brother, and men can feel it. We have a chance of moving up, _expanding_ and he's off to bloody fucking Bath to soak his ass," she exhaled slowly, smoke twisting around her head like a translucent serpent.

"I won't let some Billy fucking Kimber shoot us out of business because father apparently lost his balls in France, too. Think about it, yeah?"

Not even bothering to mask his disgust he turned away from her and made way to his car a few feet away, "He's our father goddammit Cat! Stop being so fucking selfish for once in your life."

Climbing into the car he sent another withering glare her way, throwing a _"Don't do anything stupid!" _out of the window as he passed her by.

Bleak morning fog rolled down the cobbled streets, entering every crevice, every crack in the walls, chilling the bones of the residents as they burrowed themselves deeper into the sheets, savouring the minutes before inevitably crawling from their beds into the chilling day, and going off to labour away, amidst the lethal gases and grime of the factories.

She dropped the remainder of her cigarette before it burned through her white glove and took a breath of moist morning air. Not making even ten steps, two unfamiliar police officers blocked her path.

"Madam, if you could please come with us," he stated politely, his Irish accent scraping at her ears.

"Chief Inspector would like a moment your time."

She held little love for the Irish: always rebelling, messing with her shipments. She lost three crates of fine whisky once, because those IRA bastards decided to blow up every bloody ship that sailed to England that day.

"Well, we best not keep our good Inspector waiting." She gave them a calculating smile and motioned for them to lead the way. They passed the Magistrates and the Courtroom, the officers not even bothering to make conversation.

Sighing she let her eyes wander over the familiar surroundings, until they stopped in front of the building that made her heart drop to her heel. Hesitantly, she moved forward and around the church of St. Michael to the little burial ground behind it.

The man that must have been Inspector stood in front of her mothers grave, turning as he heard them approach. A middle aged man, as she suspected, greying and well dressed as would befit his position. What unnerved her the most were his lifeless eyes that seemed to follow her every move.

"Miss Cardinale, my name is Inspector Chester Campbell," giving her what was supposed to be a charming smile, he bent down and kissed her gloved hand.

She felt the need to throw up. And she would most definitely buy a new pair of gloves.

"I thank you for taking time to meet with me." _As if I had a bloody choice_, she thought but opted not to say anything.

Instead she retorted; "It would be a dreadful world, Sir, if we didn't abide the law." she smiled, clasping her hands in front of her, "but I'm afraid if it's business you would like to talk about, I'm hardly a competent one to consult."

The inspector chuckled lowly, circling around her as if she were his prey. Flashing her a predatory grin he continued.

"People talk easily in this town madam, and most of them have your name in their mouth. Do you know why I choose this meeting place, Miss Cardinale?" he pressed on, "I was told good little girls do not lie on their mother's grave. Are you one of them?"

Bile rose in the back of her throat but she levelled him with an equally emotionless stare.

"I would never, Sir." words tasted bitter in her mouth.

"What do you know about the robbery?" he leaned towards her. "What robbery?" she countered, unyielding.

He studied her face carefully before lifting his digit to painstakingly slowly move a lock of her black tresses from her eyes. Her fingers itched for the revolver in her inner coat pocket.

"Ah but you do. You've meddled in gun trafficking before haven't you, Miss Cardinale? I could easily patch the entire affair on you and go home."

It had only been once or twice; they nicked a few semi automatic rifles and ammunition from a warehouse in Suffolk, and resold it to some London gang that offered the highest price. But the little business affair cost her three of her men, bludgeoned to death while leaving the capital.

He wanted her to crack, she knew. That's why he brought her go her mother's grave; he thought her to be a soft and bendable girl.

"You take your liberties too far, Inspector. Don't you know where you came? This is Birmingham, and you'll likely end up in the cut with that tongue of yours," she sneered threateningly.

"I know nothing of your guns, and that's how it shall stay. I don't want my men involved in matters of state - we know our place. And I'd like to keep the peace in Italian Quarter, I've worked hard enough to achieve it."

Smirking at her pale face he fixed his coat and signalled to the officers waiting for him.

"I'm most happy about our agreement," as he passed by her, he grabbed her right arm, pulling her down so he could hiss in her ear.

"But If I happen to hear your name in the same sentence as guns, I'll burn the entire Italian Quarter to the ground."

With that he straightened up and strolled out of the church yard.

As she heard their footsteps leaving she allowed her eyes to slowly close. _Bloody coppers and their intimidating techniques _; it annoyed her more than it intimidated her.

Fumbling with her inner pocket she extracted a cigarette and placed it between her trembling lips. It took her at least ten times before she managed to light a match.

Inhaling- once, twice - until she could feel her racing heartbeat slowing down, she disregarded the mud and dirt that ruined her new dress, and sat by the tombstone of

**Vittorina Greco Cardinale**

She exhaled the wisps of smoke, gently tracing the letters carved into the marble.

There was trouble stirring in Birmingham, and she was in the dead centre of it.


	4. II | A MAN THAT WENT BANG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a dead waiter, a man-granade and a gun shipment gone missing introduce Caterina to a new business partner

**II | A MAN THAT WENT BANG**

** THE WATER IN THE** blue porcelain cup rapidly turned to dark brown as Caterina dropped some dry tea leaves in it. Absentmindedly tracing the faded birds and roses delicately painted on the saucer, she turned another page of the Birmingham Daily Post, thick headlines glaring at her from the yellowish pages.

**Strikes at the BSA**

**Wages Cut Again, Workers Up-rise Eminent**

**New Racing Favourite from Small Heath**

The usual worker's unrest had increased rapidly in the last few months, the blame mostly resting on the communist agitators riling up the masses of underpaid factory workers, and IRA activists milling about, looking for recruits.

Losing interest in the headlines she let her eyes wander down, over the lively neighbourhood of Nechells Green where she had one of her _gelato_ parlours and a tiny flat above it where she resided now after yet another turbulent spat with Francis. They had become a common occurrence: him complaining about her way of making deals, her screaming at him to stop wasting family money on whores and unruly parties in London until one of them stormed out of the house to cool their rage.

A flock of children ran by scaring the chickens, their screams and giggles startling the old ladies near the _panetteria_ debating over the quality of imported garlic. Several _Dio mio's_ and _Piccoli ratti!_ could be heard, the old ladies threatening to pinch their ears, pointedly waving their walking sticks in the direction of the tiny rascals.

Shaking her head and smiling at the children's antics, she took a few long drags of the cigarette, the smoke coiling around her neatly pinned waves.

The bliss of a peaceful morning was abruptly cut short as an unfamiliar man hurried down the street, disoriented and carelessly bumping into passerby's. He stumbled and clattered into a metal table in front of _Travelli's_ creating a ruckus that made Caterina glance up from the teacup and lean over the rusty rail of the balcony. Even from afar the man looked distressed and deranged, holding his cap tightly to his chest and rocking back and forth like a mad man.

The waiter, Cat knew him to be Franco Stuzzi, appeared from the cafe. He leveled the bald headed, barrel of a man with a cold glare.

"Hey, what you do? We're closed." He spat, making a shooing motion at him.

But no response came from the hysteric man. "Go home you crazy man! " At this point the scene already attracted the attention of customers in the nearby shops, several women peaking out of the windows at the display down below.

_"Vattene a casa, pazzo!"_ Franco was small in stature, but was hardly scared of the barbarian in front of him, as he slowly unsheathed a stiletto from the back of his belt.

A few tense seconds passed as the man regarded the blade in the waiters hand, breathing hard, before screaming.

"Fix bayonets!"

He hurled himself at the waiter, knocking down the surrounding tables, grabbing the knife and twisting it around before plunging it into Franco's heart. With the last ounce of strength Stuzzi grasped his jacket in a death grip, baring his blood stained teeth at him, before falling limply to the damp ground.

Caterina stood up abruptly - unblinking - the discarded cigarette now burning a hole through the lacy tablecloth. The street exploded in a frenzy; children screamed as their mothers covered their eyes and hurried them home, not daring to glance behind in terror at the bloody scene. Young men clutched their companions tightly, ushering them out of the tumultuous street and into safety.

Snapping herself from staring, she hurried down through the house and onto the street. By the time she pushed past the people crowding in front of the cafe, the murderer was gone. She gestured to the two young men beside her to pull the body of Franco Stuzzi upright and carry him away inside. Stepping inside the circle of people that formed around the murder scene, she placed her hands on her hips and addressed them.

"Does anyone recognise the man," She began, gesturing wildly all around her. "That just walked in here and killed our countryman and _nobody fucking did anything_?!"

"_Signorina, scusi_." Someone piped up to her right. A scraggly black haired boy held a peaked hat in his hands, the very same one the bald man carried on his head. He passed it to her. "Dropped it when he ran away."

It was a common cap, the one many factory workers covered their heads with, grey and brown tweed and covered in ash and sooth. A glint of silver caught her eye as she carefully flipped the discarded cap around only to find several razor blades neatly stitched under the brim.

A look of confusion passed over her face, brows furrowing as she regarded the object in her hands. Impossible, she thought, and yet...

And then, with a furious determination and a few venomous Italian curses spewing from her lips, she turned to one of her men standing close by.

"Bring my Bentley up front. We're going to Small Heath."

* * *

** THOMAS SHELBY LEANED BACK** in his chair, processing the news delivered to him by Lovelock.

_Fuckin' hell Danny._ The leader of the notorious Small Heath cap-wielding band stared blankly at the blackboard ahead, hardly taking notice of the odds being yelled out or the clinking of coins, pennies, shillings as dozens of men laid their bets at the desks behind him - all on Monaghan Boy. _You dug your own grave now, old friend._

It had been going perfectly; the powder trick, the increase of bets, the _bloody_ guns. Things were looking up for the first time since he returned.

There was little to nothing he could do without starting a war with the Italians, a war he could not afford, not now.

The entrance to the betting shop suddenly flung open, distracting him. One of the runners halted, face dotted with sweat. "Tommy!" he rasped, trying to catch his breath. "A Bentley coming down the street."

He sprung up, straightening his immaculate three-piece suit as the roar of the engine became audible even over the buzz of the betting shop. Several moments of anticipation passed before the customer entrance opened with a bang.

A striking figure clad in a fitted black suit jacket with a matching skirt strutted into the room overflowing with cigarette smoke and buzzing with illegal activity. The incessant noise suddenly died down, both bookies and bet-placers turning to look at the newcomer.

He took notice as the girl - no, a_ woman_ \- slowly stalked into the room, staring down the men surrounding, who instantly removed themselves from her path. Her appearance screamed_ privilege_ \- a carefree elegance dangerously wrapped in black silk and fur, fashionably clashing with the blood red on her lips, nails and heels.

"Which one of you is Thomas Shelby?" Her command reverberated through the shop, eyes darting over their shabby headquarters. There was no need for her to ask; her eyes instantly centred on him as if she already knew the answer.

"Who am I talking to?" Tommy shot back, making his way towards the petite figure in the center of the room.

"I'm Caterina Cardinale." She paused, eyes flickering over the crowd that formed around them. "Do you have somewhere we could talk, privately?"

A beat passed before he gestured to the doors that separated the Shelby household and the betting shop. As the doors slammed behind them, the lively atmosphere returned to the shop, although a little more tame as they anticipated the result of the confrontation between their leader and the lethally good-looking lady.

She was greeted by floral wallpapers and doilies covering mantelpieces. It was a breath of another culture - the fancy crockery and little brass elephants dotting the shelves, a vase of roses that had probably been red once but now hung limply over the edge.

A table appears as they pass into a homely parlour and she takes liberty in taking a seat as Thomas approached the cabinet, soon procuring two glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

Her eyes traced the features of the man as he poured them a drink each. Would his high cheekbones make her bleed if she ever dared to touch them? Or perhaps the sharpness of his jaw as he steadily poured her whisky before setting the glass in front of her._ No_, Caterina knew. _The chilling blue of his eyes cut much deeper than any of the blades he and his comrades stitched into their hats._

He sat back, balancing a freshly lit cigarette between his fingers as he gestured for her to speak.

"Miss Cardinale, how can I help you?" He stated in a low yet commanding drawl.

"One of your own, a Daniel Owen, barged into my territory, destroyed my property and killed one of my men." She started, lips pursed in irritation. "You seem to be a respected and serious man Mr. Shelby. I do not wish for a war between us and quite frankly I believe neither do you."

"Danny... he's a good man. But even the best men lost a part of themselves in France. An honorable man but what the war did to him.."

Something akin to a pained look crossed her features. _And some of the best men never return._

"Yes, I suspected so." She continued softly."You do realise, he has to die? Though I wouldn't want him to die my men want to. It's barbaric really, far too bloody even for my taste. But alas it's tradition."

A small smirk curled her painted lip. "We Italians are quite the traditional folk."

The Shelby leader pursed his lips. "I'll do it myself. Tonight."

"Right, of course. Unless, perhaps..."

She leaned forward and plucked a cigarette with her slim, elegant fingers from the pack on his side of the table. Eyes sparkling with mischief behind long dark lashes she slowly brought it to her crimson lips, acutely aware of his blue eyes tracing her movements.

"We make a deal."

* * *

"Thank you for the hospitality, Mr. Shelby." A shy smile crossed Caterina's features as they made way to the hallway of the Shelby household. She tried not to dwell on his hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her towards the exit. _Pull it together, woman._

"Kat! Kat!"

She nearly fell over as a small figure slammed full force into her. Gleaming eyes of Finn Shelby stared up at her, mischievous grin showing off his chipped front tooth. The sight of the merry boy brought a matching grin to her face as she ducked down to pinch his cheek in affection.

"Finn, dearest boy! I haven't seen you in ages. Have you forgotten me, young man?" she feigned a pout to which he responded with a giggle. "Is it possible you're eleven on Sunday?"

The youngest Shelby nodded animatedly. "Do tell Pol to swing by with you after church then." She leaned in, whispering conspiratorially in his ear yet loud enough for Thomas to hear. "We'll have some of that gelato you love, aye?"

Pressing a brief kiss to the little boy's cheek, she ruffled his hair and shooed him away to play.

Almost forgetting the elder Shelby brother standing in the hallway behind her, she jumped when he sharply coughed, gesturing for an explanation. "How do you know my brother? And Polly?" He all but demanded, his protective nature slipping into his demeanour.

Caterina cocked her head to the side, chuckling at his tense posture. "Polly is a dear friend of mine, and young Finn is a lovely boy. I took care of him for a while, while you boys were at war. Ask her, it's not really my place to tell."

"I'll be seeing you Mr. Shelby. Until tonight."

"Until tonight Miss Cardinale."

He was left to watch her retreating figure from the threshold as she climbed into her shining car, disproportionately delicate behind the steering wheel, wondering what did he exactly get himself involved in.

* * *

** AS THE CHILL OF THE NIGHT** ascended over riverbank, two men hurriedly hauled heavy crates onto a coal barge, the older of the two occasionally looking over his shoulder as if expecting an intruder to catch them in a treasonous act.

Charlie Strong dropped his sack into the hold of the boat in time to see Thomas strolling into the yard, a faraway look in his eyes. The entire situation uneased the man; his nephew was acting more odd than usual and he had a sense of something ominous coming their way - a Gypsy's foresight one would say.

"They are aboard. There's no Moon. We can take them out to the turning point beyond Gas Street and leave them on the bank. They'll be found by railwaymen first thing." Charlie nodded to himself, bringing his hands to the fire to warm them. The only response he got was silence.

"Is that agreement?"

The pounding of heavy machinery in the factory echoed through the moonless night.

Thomas sighed softly. "I changed my mind."

"You _what?"_

"I have an alternative strategy."

Thomas procured a set of iron keys from his coat pocket, offering them to his Uncle.

"Tell Curly to take her out to the old tobacco wharf. There's a lock up mooring we used to keep cigarettes. He knows it." The older man stared at his nephew in horror, not taking the keys.

"When the boat leaves your yard it's no longer your concern." Thomas pressed, trying to reason him but to no avail.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?" Charlie raged. "Have you not seen the streets? They've sent an army to find these things..."

"That's right. They've shown their hand..."

"Their_ hand?"_

"If they want them back this bad, they'll have to pay. That's the way of the world. Fortune drops something valuable in your lap, you don't just dump it on the bank of the cut."

"You're blood Tommy. I've always looked out for you like a dad. You're going to bring holy hell down on your head. This copper takes no prisoners..."

"I'm told he didn't serve." His lip curled mockingly as he remembered flicking through the Inspector's folder. "Reserved occupation." _A coward_, he wanted to say.

Charlie peered at Thomas, slowly realising the man's intent. "It's another war you're looking for Tommy?"

"I'm preventing a war. I struck a deal with the Devil herself." He smiled, absentmindedly, and Charlie wondered if Tommy had indeed completely lost his mind. He finished the cigarette, stuffing the keys into Charlie's top pocket, patting it twice before turning on his heel and leaving.

"The tobacco wharf. _By order of the Peaky Blinders."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that wraps up chapter two! Hope you like it and make sure to review, I’d love to hear your opinion! Jana xx


	5. III | A BLOOD DEBT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one in which she meets the rest of the brothers and a peculiar irish barmaid

**III | A BLOOD DEBT**

** THE BIRMINGHAM SMALL ARMS** factory loomed over the canal like a silent vigil over the grim scene playing out in its shadow. Through the smoke stepped out two men - Thomas Shelby and Danny Owen, the latter shaking like a leaf on an autumn breeze. Glancing from beneath his peaked cap, Tommy spotted the three expecting, coat garbed figures on the other side of the canal.

There, as negotiated, stood Caterina flanked by two Italians, brothers of the fallen waiter.

As the condemned man glanced to his left, his face grew even paler than it was before. A coal barge glided over the oily waters, inching closer like his planned demise.

"Danny, as you know, the man you killed was Italian. And those two men down there are his brothers, and the woman, that's their boss." For a moment Danny lets his eyes flicker towards the grim figures glaring at him from beneath their fedoras, a rush of remorse filling his heart.

"Now if I let the Italians do this they'll cut off your manhood and let you drain. That's how those bastards do things." They stopped by the edge of the canal, the ill-fated man stepping forward.

"So to stop a war breaking out between us and the Italians, and to save you from their barbarity, I said I should dispatch you myself." Danny nods, having expected such conclusion, eyes fixed at the dreary waters bellow. He let out a shuddered breath, clutching his cap tightly to his chest.

"They are here to witness."

He then reached into his pocket and fished out a packet of cigarettes, offering one to the condemned man. With shaky hands he took a big drag before peering at Thomas with tears in his eyes.

"I died over there anyway Tommy. I left my fucking brains in the mud."

Thomas nods gently in agreement. "Yeah. You have any last requests comrade?"

One of the scowling men beside her stirred, checking his watch and huffing out in irritation. "Will they hurry up already?_ Siamo arrivati per l'esecuzione, non l'opera in tre atti."_

Whipping her head towards the man she hissed through her teeth. "_Basta_, Leonardo. You will have justice. Or do you doubt me?" The tone of her voice left no space for discussion.

"Apologies, _signora_."

"In the bleak midwinter..."

Danny nods, tightly screwing his eyes shut in preparation. The boat is alongside. A moment later, Tommy pulls the trigger followed by a resonating bang echoing through the yard, the body of Danny Whizz-Bang falling face first onto the deck of the boat as it passed, a gruesome splash of blood and brains painting the executioners face.

"The blood debt has been paid." She stated gravely, and then let her eyes soften at the two grieving brothers. "Go home."

With a thankful nod of their heads and another look over at where Tommy stood, the two brothers disappeared, satisfied with the job done. She felt a twinge of guilt creeping at her for deceiving them so. If it were someone of her kin that had been killed, she knew she would have taken the life of the murderer herself. _It's for the greater good, _she reasoned._ If I keep telling that to myself I might even start believing it._

After making sure the two left, she crossed the flimsy bridge connecting the two sides of the canal to where Tommy Shelby stood, still gazing at the Cut, an unreadable look on his face - as if he was miles away in his head. She joined him on his left, holding out a white embroidered cloth for him to take. He nodded his head in thanks before wiping the remains of blood off of his face.

"I'll ruin your fancy handkerchief with blood." He remarked, tracing the embroidered initials _CC_ now speckled with angry red blots.

"Throw it out, keep it. I'll just make a new one." She kicked a pebble into the murky water of the canal. "He's off to London now, aye?"

"Aye."

"Well I'd say you owe me a drink, Shelby." The said man turned in her direction, eyebrow raising in question. People were rarely so bold in addressing him, and yet he didn't find himself irked by the woman's forward, temperamental demeanour.

"Do you ever stop demanding things?" The tone of his voice was supposed to be irritated but even she could see the corner of his lips curling into a smile.

She let out a huff of laughter as they moved towards the road. "Get used to it, Mr Shelby. I'm _insatiable_."

Instead of replying he shook his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets only to fish out a pack of cigarettes, offering for her to take one.

"Thomas."

It was more than a simple word - or an informal introduction. It was a sign of a deal struck, and somewhere along that line, a friendship. Pleasantly surprised, she gave him a grin, flashing her pearly whites as she swiftly drew one from his pack.

"Caterina"

* * *

** POLLY'S VIGOROUS POLISHING** of a brass pot was suddenly interrupted by the noise of someone entering the Shelby household. Even before he rounded into the dining room she knew it was Thomas, easily recognising his purposeful strides. She glanced up as he produced a wad of notes and two bags of coins, placing them on the table in front of her. Reaching forward and weighing them in her hand she concluded.

"A bad week." It was more of a statement, than a question.

Thomas removed his hat, sitting down opposite of her. He rubbed his eyes wearily, far too drained to talk about it.

Polly began counting the money and spoke up casually, hiding her anxiety. "There was no moon last night. I looked." Ignoring her musing he lit a cigarette, staring blankly at the opposite wall.

"Did you do the right thing?"

"Yes I did the right thing." He snapped firmly, rising from his chair and turning away.

Polly stopped counting, staring at him in suspicion. Since he was a little boy, wreaking havoc of much smaller scale than now, she could read him like a book.

"Thomas. I heard Caterina was here, about Danny." That stopped him in his tracks. He turned back towards his aunt, letting her continue.

Polly's demeanour changed, suddenly growing more serious than she had been. She put the bags back on the table before narrowing her eyes at her nephew. "You listen very carefully. If as much as a hair falls from her head because of this business you've been running, by the Oath Tommy Shelby, I will cut you. Am I clear?"

He crossed his arms over his chest, levelling her with a stare of his own. "How did you befriend her? Not only is she Italian - and God knows you've always been against foreigners - but runs a bloody business, too."

"Church book club."

"_Polly_."

For a moment she hesitates, and then sighs, eyes dropping towards the roaring fire to her right. "I'm not proud of it, but when you boys were away there was a time when money was lacking. I took from my mouth and gave to Finn and John's children. But then Martha got sick and couldn't work so I had to get a loan." She stopped, waiting to see if he would react. "All the women talked about a girl that ruled the Italian Quarter and lend money to widows and those who needed it for a fair fee."

"She knew who I was, what we did. A fierce little thing but I could see she was lost and alone. So I came round more often, and so did Ada - the two of them went to school together, you know - and then Finn. Did you know she taught him how to read?" She pursed her lips in a tight smile, glancing at where Tommy stood brooding in the doorway.

"I love her Tommy. As if she were my own daughter."

"Noted Pol. Noted."

He turned on his heel and disappeared up the stairs, coat flickering behind him. Polly knew he didn't dispose of the guns, and she shouldn't have expected anything different._ Stubborn as those horses of his._ Sighing she turned to the pile of coins laying atop the table. She could feel, there are dangerous times to come.

* * *

** CATERINA STARED NERVOUSLY** at the entrance of The Garrison. It was not that she had never been to a pub, no - she successfully owned three of them - but this was an unknown territory to her. Even as she stood on the street she could feel the mistrustful glares of factory workers. She did, in fact, stick out as a sore thumb in the filthy, garish Garrison Lane, her sharp navy blue coat and polished shoes, with neatly combed hair beneath a soft black beret being a mocking contrasts to the poverty of Small Heath.

She sucked the cold air in through her teeth and pushed through the door. The men enjoying their pints looked over to inspect the newcomer, their conversations lowering to a murmur as she strode in, head held high. Disregarding the several hostile glares thrown in her direction, she tightened the coat around her and marched to the bar.

A blonde woman stood behind the bar, a cloth slung over her shoulder and sleeves of her pale blue blouse rolled up to her elbows as she washed the glasses in the sink behind the counter.

"Give me a gin. And double it." She fished some money from her silk purse, slamming it down on the counter sticky from all the spilled drinks.

The woman looked up from her work, surprised by the appearance of the unknown woman. "Unusual to see a woman here in this hole." She remarked, sharp Irish accent flowing into her words.

"Unusual to hear an Irishwoman, in Birmingham of all places." She countered, pleased to have found someone willing to counter her bants.

The bartender chuckled, refilling her glass before shrugging noncommittally. "New beginnings I suppose."

"I'll drink to that. Caterina Cardinale." She stretched her hand over the counter to shake her hand. The blonde gratefully accepted, flashing her a wide smile.

She took a moment to properly take a look at the friendly barmaid that served her drink. A pretty, pale face framed with blonde tresses and lively blue eyes. For a moment she found herself self conscious over the lack of that gentle femininity, dressed in her tweed suit and coat, boyish compared to the effortless class that radiated off the barmaid.

"Grace, pleased to meet you. What brings you to The Garrison?"

"Just business." At that the Irish woman looked up from the glass she had been polishing. It was the way Caterina said _business_ that made her believe it was not an ordinary affair. Emboldened by her instantaneous camaraderie with the petite Italian she pipped up feigning curiosity.

"With the Peaky Blinders?"

That earned her a raised eyebrow. "Heard of 'em? You sound scared Irish girl." Caterina sipped her gin, leaning on her elbow.

"Well, Harry said they own half the Birmingham."

She responded with an unladylike snort. _They bloody wish they owned half of Birmingham._ "You don't seem so scared of me."

"Should I be?"

"I own the other half."

Their conversation was suddenly cut short as two loud figures bounded up to the bar, the taller being the first to spot Caterina absentmindedly tracing the rim of her glass. He swiftly poked the other man with an elbow to his ribs efficiently shutting him up.

" 'Ello lovely lady what's that charming face doin' in a place like this?"

Glancing in the direction of the gravel like voice she finally spotted the two strange men. The tall, lanky one that attempted to flirt with her sported a thick moustache over his lip while the shorter one smirked cheekily, a toothpick dangling from his lip. Besides their elegant appearance, the duo had another peculiar similarity - a peaked cap over their heads, an object she became awfully familiar with over the last few days.

"Business."

The moustached men squinted at her, as if assessing her appearance. "You a whore?"

The sound of flesh hitting flesh reverberated through the pub as she slapped him soundly over the right cheek, heads turning in alarm to look at the fuming woman that dared to hit one of the most feared men in Birmingham.

"I'm a businesswoman." She hissed furiously, glaring upwards. The shorter man hollered with laughter at the hilarity of the situation. A tiny woman slapping his brother so hard she left a red imprint of a ring on his right cheek, _oh he'll never live that one down_.

"Aye they call themselves a lot these days."

Just as she was about to slap him on the other side, too, a firm voice stopped them.

"_Arthur_. Stop your nonsense."

Thomas Shelby stood at the doorway, eyes narrowed at his two brothers causing trouble in their favourite pub. Caterina retracted her hand, going for the her liquor instead.

"Thomas, just in time. I was just about to shoot your brother."

Rolling his eyes he crossed the pub, shrugging the coat off his shoulders."Get in line for that. Arthur, John - our newest business partner, Caterina Cardinale." He glanced at her glass halfway filled with transparent liquid, silently asking for permission. She nodded and he proceeded to down the remainder of her gin.

"Alright Tommy. What the fuck are you doing?"

"Caterina here is a representative of the Cardinale Import." He gestured in her general direction from where he stood leaning on the bar, hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets, a look of disinterest plastered across his face. He was growing tired of his brothers' constant nagging.

"Well we don't need no fuckin' _lemons_, Tommy."

"We have a common interest."

The two scoffed cynically before Arthur continued. "Trustin' Italians now? You think we 'aven't heard of your ways here in Small Heath?"

Suddenly the one with a toothpick hanging from his mouth - John Shelby, she made sure to remember - piped up. "Is it true you 'ave Earl of Coventry under your protection?"

She nodded in affirmation."Aye I do. Lovely man, always pays on time. Tried to fuck me over once so I burned down his car warehouse." That seemed to shut the brothers up, until John smirked, eyes flitting between Caterina and his brother.

"Feisty and beautiful; you sure know how to pick 'em Tommy."

Growing tired of their petty accusations he raised a cigarette threateningly in their direction, making a shooing motion with it. "Alright that's enough chit chat. You two should be at the betting shop." He straightened from leaning at the counter, opening the door behind him.

"Barmaid, a bottle of whiskey." He signalled to Grace, before motioning to Caterina to pass through the door he was holding open for her.

She snapped her head to flash one last friendly smile at the barmaid behind the counter."It was lovely meeting you, Grace. Swing by Nechells and we'll have some tea, yeah? Us girls gotta stay together." And then disappeared into the little room, doors slamming behind them.

"I'd love that, thank you." Whispered the blonde, more to herself than anyone else.

"I heard Monaghan Boy won again. I applaud you - it's an incredibly smart plan. I would have definitely done the same thing - if I was into bookmaking, that is." Thomas snorted in amusement at the woman's preaching as he poured them some whiskey. She nodded appreciatively, leaning into the leather seats of the booth, amber liquid sloshing about her glass before she necked it. Setting the now empty glass on the table she grew serious, lacing her fingers in front of her.

"Four families run this city: Cardinale, Changretta, Kimber and Shelby. I reckon - if our plan goes as expected - we can make it three by the end of the year."

* * *

"Any progress with the Shelby's?"

The museum they choose as their meeting place was sparsely crowded, Grace standing in front of the large painting on the wall, pretending to admire its lively depictions of Renaissance Italy. She squared her shoulders as Campbell came to stand behind her, before delivering her report.

"A woman came in yesterday. She introduced herself as Caterina Cardinale and then went to private booth with Thomas Shelby. I suspect they discussed some kind of business, possibly the guns."

She bit her lip, feeling the guilt creep over her shoulder. "I believe I successfully befriended her as she invited me over for tea." _She's a bad person_, she reasoned with herself, _and yet why do I feel as if I'm betraying her_?

The Inspector squeezed the end of his moustache angrily, a fire familiar to Grace flickering in his eyes as he pretended to regard the painting in front of them. But the last time she had seen it, it was channelled at the IRA. "Excellent Grace. I knew that little harlot had her fingers in the pie."

"Try to uncover as subtly as possible the nature of her partnership with the Peaky Blinders."

He smiled softly at her, a semblance of pride in his eyes. "Well done indeed, Grace."

Tipping his hat in her direction, he turned, disappearing among the marble statues, leaving Grace Burgess - for the very first time - conflicted over the mission on her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked chapter three!


	6. IV | GUILTY BY ASSOCIATION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> declarations of war

**IV | GUILTY BY ASSOCIATION**

** NECHELLS WERE, IN FACT,** a rather peaceful neighbourhood for all the twenty-and-two years of Caterina Cardinale's life. There would be an occasional pub brawl or a violent beating as a result of an unpaid debt, courtesy of Cardinale debt collectors, but other than that the most noise was created by flocks of children chasing through the streets.

And yet, for the second time in the same week its streets were plunged into chaos and frenzy as police officers swarmed into their homes pulling the men from their shops and their beds, overturning their pockets and cabinets for any sign of communist agenda.

Caterina had been returning from the company warehouse by the canal where she oversaw the sealing of the shipment bound for London. After months of pursuit she finally found a man willing to buy several expensive paintings she confiscated as a warning from one of the prominent clients she offered her protection to.

_It was not her fault the interest rate was so high_, she would tell the clients, _it was the market_. Not her fault they didn't read the tiny lettering in the contract.

Most came to their senses after the first warning - a flat tire of their car or one of her men following them around to keep them on their toes. Some were not so wise, like Lady Montague who was now a Rembrandt and a Turner short.

"_Che cazzo._.." The cars following her halted as she climbed out of her own, determined to find the answer to the mess at hand.

Several officers still lingered about, looking smug on their horses as the the inhabitants tried to pull together their possessions, some thrown out of the window, fruit and vegetables on the stalls turned over and soiled.

"Oi!" She marched over, pointing a threatening finger at the officer. "Who the fuck ordered this?"

The man in the uniform look at her lazily, as if she was dirt on his shoe that he wanted to get rid of. "Miss Cardinale, stay silent and comply."

"You get the fuck out of my neighbourhood." She spat on the ground in front of him, the officer's lip curling in disgust.

"Italian heathens." He muttered. Waiving a hand at his colleagues, they cleared from the streets, leaving the mayhem behind.

She ran a hand through her hair, a thousand thoughts running through her hair. _The old sod somehow found out about the deal. _

Her feet carried her down the street. Between a butcher's shop and a chemist rose a three story Victorian house, flowers adorning the windows and a green door between two pillars. Two men stood in front, in a heated argument.

Halting beside them she tossed the car keys to the younger of the two. "Put her in the garage." she called, not acknowledging the look of pure terror the boy had.

"If you scratch her I'll gut you." There was no doubt she actually meant it - her Bentley was her prized possession, the first thing she bought from her own money.

The other man was _Giuseppe Bianchini_, but that name was rarely used. Instead he answered to _Mazza_, which meant a club or a mace in Italian, quite obviously indicating his prowess in using the weapon. He was her father's cousin, once or twice removed - s_he could care less_ \- and thus a man of trust in their organization.

"They overturned two restaurants and took five men on suspicion of being communists."

"Well if they are there's nothing I can do. You know how I feel about these new revolutionary ideas in my neighborhood." She said casually, trying hide the fact that she was troubled by the ordeal.

"Very bad for business." She pulled the recently acquired wad of money, reluctantly handing it over to _Mazza_. _There goes my Rembrandt. _

"Get some men and distribute these for damage repair."

Not waiting for his reply she climbed up the stairs. The entrance hall opened into an anteroom that led to the living room on the left and kitchen on the right. The sound of door closing echoed through the empty house. She sighed softly, dropping the coat from her aching shoulders, heels off and already forgotten by the entrance.

A wad of letters awaited her at the dinning table, most addressed to the company name. She flicked through them, softly tapping towards the spacious living room. She hesitated for a moment and them threw several into the fireplace. The paper of the envelopes curled and glowed, becoming one with the burning embers.

"_Maria_!"

A clash could be heard from somewhere in the house, a string of Italian curses following shortly behind. It brought a flicker of smile to her lips.

A short and stout woman of about sixty bounded into the living room. Her graying hair was disheveled and from her apron littered with stains peaked out a ladle and a wooden spoon.

"Have the cursed policemen taken anything?"

"No _cara_, I put the papers in the safe box." Maria huffed, seating herself in one of the armchairs. A cloth was slung around her stout neck, which she used to pat the sweat from her brow. Squinting, she noticed the papers turning into ashes in the fireplace. "Are those your father's letters again?"

"Oh yes."

"I see much of Vittorina in you. Not just the looks." Caterina unconsciously winced at the mention of her late mother. Eleven years had passed but the wound was still fresh like it was yesterday.

"She was strong and fierce, better than that little Napolitano of your father."

Cat snorted at the woman's open criticism. "He's Sicilian on his mother's side you know. Not entirely rotten" She glanced back, smiling.

Maria waved the cloth around as if dismissing such possibility. "Beh, a fool. I don't know how he charmed her."

"_Dov'è mio fratello_?" She couldn't remember the last time she saw him.

"Went to collect _un debito_, to Liverpool I think. He seemed almost happy when he left."

She rolled her eyed in exasperation. "Of course he was." _He's probably beating someone to death right now._

Maria pursed her thin lips. "No more family dinners. You work too much, Francesco is never home and neither is that father of yours."

Caterina's heart broke at the face her old housekeeper made. She had been a part of the family for as long as she could remember, acting as a second mother to her. She read her a story before she went to sleep and cooked her favorite meals, she kissed her goodnight and patched her scraped up knees. Vittoria never had time for that.

"Well I'll be home for dinner." She spun around and soundly kissed the older woman's cheek, the latter eliciting a surprised squeak.

"And if someone needs me I'll be in the office." She called over her shoulder, disappearing up the stairs.

"Your father's office, _cara_?" The old woman called after her, a smug smile on her face. She already knew the answer.

"Maria, you cheeky woman! I'd say it's my office now, _si_?"

The old woman chuckled softly, folding her arms and leaning back into the comfortable armchair.

* * *

** BY THE END OF THE AFTERNOON**, a walking storm in the form of Polly Gray sweeped in, tugging a disheveled Ada by her side. Hardly glancing up from the papers, she nodded a few times to the man in front of her.

"_Un momento_." She scribbled her signature on the papers, both her and the man rising to shake hands. With a tip of his hat to the ladies and a large wad of papers underneath his arm, he disappeared through the doors.

Caterina fell back into her chair. "I just bought a distillery. Father's going to murder me." The look on her face was hardly troubled - a triumphant grin._ And I could care less._

Polly nudged the girl stood on her left with an elbow to her side. "Go on, tell her."

"Tell me what?" Noticing the tense look about them, she straightened up, eyes flickering between the two Shelby women.

Ada Shelby's face turned from pale as marble to blushing rose before she blurted out. "I'm pregnant."

For a moment she felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. "Should I be congratulating you or hitting you over the head?"

"Oh stop it both of you, alright." The only Shelby daughter sulked into one of her velvet office chairs, crossing her hands like a petulant child.

"Ada, who's the father?" She was still trying to wrap her head around the fact Ada was seeing someone, a fact she was not aware of, and now she was expecting a child? Her wild, cheery friend Ada?

"Freddie Thorne."

At that revelation Caterina groaned in pain and clutched her head, letting it hit the dark cherry wood of her desk.

"Of all the people in Britain, you had to pick a communist agitator on the run from law!" She stared in disbelief. "By the Lord you really _are_ a Shelby."

"And you're fraternizing with the Shelby's, what does that make you?" Ada bit back.

"I hate you."

"No you don't." Chirped Ada.

"Why didn't you tell me you two are involved? I thought we're friends, Ada." Her voice had gotten quieter, losing the anger it held moments ago.

"Because he's a bloody communist!"

"Well obviously! You think I would rat you out?" Going around the desk she grabbed both sides of Ada's face, making the other woman blink rapidly in confusion.

"Ada," She stated calmly. "I love you like a sister, and if you love him - well, I'll turn a blind eye to that fact. As long as he doesn't talk about fuckin' Bolsheviks and Marx during dinner."

The two dissolved into giggles. Aunt Polly watched the girls she considered her daughters, worry etched on her brow.

"We're going to Cardiff, on the day after tomorrow, to see a woman." The strain in her smile revealed her nerves and the underlying intention of the trip. She enveloped both girls in a tight embrace.

"What'd you say, a girls day the three of us? "

Extracting herself from Polly's grip she turned back to her desk. "I have to disappoint you, I have business." She reluctantly admitted, genuinely disappointed she would miss an outing with the two women she cared the most. She wanted to be there for Ada - no woman should go through such thing alone.

Ada perked up, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "With Tommy?"

"...Maybe."

"What are you two planning? It's those bloody guns innit? He should've gotten rid of 'em, I told him."

The maid must have brought the tea at some point because Cat caught herself staring at the porcelain teacup, suddenly far too interested in the way her little spoon created whirlpools, making the bits of dissolving sugar dance around the cup.

She sighed. "Listen, we've got a common enemy; he wants to start legitimate and I can help him, but I need help to get rid of Billy Kimber. So Tommy gets the bets and I get booze distribution on tracks." She tried to look anywhere else instead of Polly's furious stare.

"The two of you will get yourself killed."

Caterina bit the inside of her cheek, almost to the point of drawing blood.

"I know, Pol." She muttered. "But no risk, no profit_. No?"_

* * *

"A bullet with your name on it?" She grimaced, tracing the letters engraved into the side of the bullet. "Quite a straightforward message I say. You sure you can wage a war between three fronts?"

"I'm working on it." He took it back, stuffing it in his coat pocket.

The pub was full of life - men jollily bursting into song after their fourth or fifth pint, laughter and smoke and gallons of ale - behind the closed door of their private booth. His pint was only half gone but he was already lighting his fourth cigarette.

She leaned on her hand, the other tracing shapes on a crystal glass filled with gin. "How's that horse of yours? I'd love to see her."

A look of pride crossed his face, lighting up his blue eyes and stretching a smile across his lips. "She's a beauty that one. A month or two with Curly and she'll win me races like those rich steeds."

A throaty chuckle escaped her lips. "Tommy Shelby - you sound positively in love."

The dark haired man shook his head. There was something sinister and dark in the way he said his next words. Something broken, too.

"Nah, don't do love, darling."

They lapsed into comfortable silence. Thomas fidgeted with the lighter in his hand, a faraway look in his eyes. Then he met her eyes over the table.

"Come to the stables tomorrow. We'll take the horses out, catch some fresh air out of the city."

An hour more passed. The sounds of merriment dimmed down as the clock neared midnight. Thomas left, excusing himself over some business that had to be taken care of.

She transferred herself to the bar then, waiting for the last of the patrons to finish their drinks and stumble out of the pub and into the bleak night.

A quite flushed Grace took the bar stool next to her. "He asked me to go to the races with him. To Cheltenham." There was no doubt over who she was talking about.

It was all planned out perfectly ; he would take Grace in pretense of her bringing class into his appearance while Caterina would go with Kimber, listening in on his intel in the process. And yet something stirred inside of her. What if he _actually_ wanted to go with Grace?

The Irishwoman furrowed her brows tentatively. "You're not mad?"

"Why would I be?" Her voice sounded odd to her ears, strained.

"Well I thought - I mean.. The two of you are so close. My mistake." The blonde stammered trying to dig herself out of the awkward situation.

She waved it off, instead plastering a wide smile to her face. "I say it calls for shopping."

She helped Grace to her feat, grabbing their coats. The barmaid shut the lights, enveloping the pub into darkness. When she locked the front, Caterina entwined their arms, the duo strutting down the Garrison Lane like two schoolgirls.

"Can't be seen at Chetlenham wearing something I've already worn, that would be _preposterous._" She imitated the way all those posh ladies simpered at the races, their laughs echoing in the deserted streets of Small Heath.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an apology for not updating for weeks, here's another chapter today. Hope you like it and make sure to comment some feedback! Jana x


	7. V | TO INDEPENDENT WOMEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter five done! Make sure to comment some feedback, I'd love to hear from you :) x

**V | TO INDEPENDENT WOMEN**

**"... AND OLIVER FOLLOWED HIM.** There was no fire in this room but a man was crouching over the empty stove-"

A soft snore interrupted her narration. She glanced down at the sleeping boy in her lap and smiled, brushing away the stray curls from his forehead affectionately. He stirred, but only to snuggle further into her warm embrace.

Closing her eyes she let herself imagine, if for a moment, he was her own.

Children were a dangerous luxury in her line of work and consequently she never actually thought about having one. Most of the girls she went to school with were all married by now, with a baby in a crib or on the way. In a year or two she'll be considered an old maid, but it would be foolish of her to think Robert would let her off like that.

Her _dearest_ _papà _grumbled at her stubbornness and constant refusal of potential arranged marriages. _I shall never marry someone who doesn't know my heart and soul._

Behind the self imposed mask she put on every morning, of an elegant business woman with a cold, unyielding façade hid a heart of a girl. A hopeless romantic that would not settle for anything less than a man who appreciated her for all her quirks and flaws, one who would not judge her for the way she lived - with blood on her hands, smoke in her lungs and gin in her veins.

Truthfully, she was terrified. Absolutely, gut-wrenchingly terrified of the possibility of ruining her child's life with the morally straying way of life she enjoyed, a danger she could never truly abandon. _Could_, she thought, _or wanted to? _

It was undeniable to anyone who meddled with the murky side of the world that it held a consuming attraction, a certain pull intoxicating enough to wrench the angels from the Heaven's grasp.

The front doors of the house rattled. Caterina's eyes snapped open, hand flying for the knife hidden underneath the coffee table. But it was too far for her to reach, not without moving and waking Finn in the process. _Where is Maria when I need her? _

Shuffling, soles of shoes hitting the wooden floorboards in an uneven rhythm. Instead of an unwanted intruder or a burglar, Thomas Shelby emerged from the dark of the hallway. With a breath of relief she relaxed her shoulders.

"I thought Polly or John were coming to get him. He just fell asleep."

"I don't mind." It had to be raining outside, she noted. His dark hair was pushed back, damp from the rain. The fabric of his shirt clung tightly to his skin. It gave a brief, sinful, idea of what could be beneath it. He leaned on the doorframe, cigarette hanging lazily from his hand, ash tumbling to the floor and piling onto the soft carpet of the hallway.

It provoked a scowl to rise on her lips. "Stop ruining my carpet, you prick." She pointedly shoved the ashtray in his direction.

He rolled his eyes before making way to the armchair. As he situated himself in front of the fire, cigarette laying extinguished in the ashtray she could finally see the exhausted appearance of her friend.

_Are we friends? Partners? What am I to you, Thomas Shelby? A passing acquaintance ?_

"You look terrible."

An understatement, really. Red rimmed his tired eyes, followed by a forlorn look in his icy blue eyes. There, in the light of the fireplace, he look more humane than she had ever seen him. More _vulnerable_. Tommy Shelby was not a God, in the end, no matter how hard he tried.

Thomas snorted in agreement, eyes fixed on the dancing embers. "I had a whisky and a heartbreaking song. Didn't help."

It was one of _those_ nights, when he was bound to wake up gasping for air, clawing at his throat in the never ending darkness. No matter how much whiskey he drank, how much opium he smoked, it always caught up to him - the ghostly hand of war creeped into his dreams, twisting his sanity. Instead of surrendering himself to the infernal torture of his own mind, he left The Garrison in search of the only person he had on his mind.

"So you decided to pop in?" Slowly extracting herself from Finn's grip, she substituted her lap with an embroidered cushion. "Sit down, I'll get you some water."

"The Lee family cursed her. I had to put a bullet to her head." He croaked, his eyes closed in what she could only immagine to be remorse.

The unexpected confession halted her in her tracks. "I'm so sorry." There was nothing more she could tell him in that moment.

He glanced at the woman who had cradled his brother in her arms so lovingly one could have mistaken her for his mother. It was incomprehensible to him how she managed to worm her way into his daily life in a matter of weeks. "We'll go riding when this is over."

Amber coloured eyes stared back at him, glowing fiercely he could have mistaken them for a pair of stars. "Well, you promised."

"Aye, I promised."

He said it softly, blue eyes boring a hole through her. Blood pulsed in her head, her ears, stomach fluttering.

_Is it possible to disarm someone with a look?_

She turned, blaming the flush on her cheeks on the proximity to the fireplace, and tucked a plaid blanket over Finn.

"I can tell the maid to make a spare bedroom if you want, I mean to spend the night- uh, I mean that sounded improper-"

The fierce leader of the Peaky Blinders was snoring in her armchair. Her expression softened. In the candlelight, he looked almost free of all his burdens.

"Night, Tommy."

She bent down and blew out the candles, feeling the gentle grip of sleep pulling her towards her bed.

By the time Caterina rolled out of the bed the following morning, the two Shelby brothers were gone with no evidence of their presence besides a neatly folded plaid blanket resting on the sofa and several cigarette buts laying in the ashtray.

* * *

"He told me I should wear a red one." Sounded Grace's voice from behind the changing curtain. An hour ago Caterina had dragged her from The Garrison after her morning shift had ended, bribing her with a promise of finding her a dress for the races and a gelato afterwards.

"Yeah, well he does like them in red." Caterina laid over the cushioned sofa of the boutique, a dainty crystal glass of cherry in one hand and a half-finished cigarette in the other.

"Who?"

She pointedly ignored her question, pushing herself off the couch to rummage through the displayed clothing.

"I need a new _something. _A dress, can't have too many of those. Do you have anything in cream or pink perhaps?" She turned to the shopkeeper.

"Yes madam, a moment please."

Her attention was caught by several dainty blouses on the hangers, like a child in a sweetshop. "See anything you like?"

"I love this one." The curtain opened revealing her Irish friend in a lovely red lace and silk dress that fell to her knees, accentuating her pale complexion. Spinning a few times in front of the large mirror on the wall she inspected the way it fit her. Sighing dreamily, she said. "I feel like a princess."

Caterina nodded in agreement, giving the masterly needlework an appreciative look. "You'll pass off like a lady, no problem there."

The shopkeeper returned bearing several finely embroidered party dresses, making Caterina gasp in delight as promptly disappear behind the changing curtain, eager to try them on. There were only a few things she loved more than spending money.

On the other hand, Grace's jubilant smile turned into frown as she noticed the price tag. "It's too expensive for me."

Caterina peaked her head from behind the curtain. "Bug Thomas for a pound more."

Grace furiously shook her head, red flush burning on her cheeks. "I couldn't, it's not really proper. I wouldn't want to anger him." _He's my employer for Christ's sake._ And after last night's scene at The Garrison she was afraid of the possibility of being discovered.

"I'd consider that just a bonus. Now, how do I look?" Dramatically throwing open the curtains, Caterina flounced out in a cream coloured dress. The sleeves falling to her elbows unraveled her tanned, Mediterranean complexion.

"Hello there," She winked at her reflection, making both Grace and the shopkeeper stifle their giggles. "I'm definitively taking this one!"

In the end Caterina purchased not only the cream dress, but also a navy sundress and a matching hat while Grace chose a soft blue blouse to compliment her eyes. The owner insisted on everything being on the house but Cat would hear none of it, instead leaving the woman several bills more.

For once the sun was shining onto the cracked pavement of Birmingham, forcing the residents to seek comfort and shade underneath several canvas awnings of the shops and cafés. Women took out their colorful sun hats and shoved off their legs in shorter dresses, the men trading their heavy coats for lighter blazers and rolled-up sleeves.

"We're here, come on!" Cat grinned in excitement, tugging her along into the shop.

A tiny building, squished between a flowershop and a jewellers, with mint green and white stripes painted on the facade and an intricately designed sign saying _Gelateria Palermitana _hanging above the doors.

Their sudden appearance ceased the chatter in the parlor. Several people rose from their chairs in greeting having recognized the black haired woman entering. She gave them an appreciative nod motioning them to sit.

"_Paolo_!"

The man in question circled the counter, smiling widely and embraced Caterina, kissing her cheeks twice. He sported an unkept moustache on his lip and equally unruly dark hair, but both could be overlooked when he grinned, as if proudly flaunting the pearly white of his perfect teeth.

Grace looked in bewilderment as she rapidly conversed with the waiter in a language she presumed was Italian and the way they threw their hands around animatedly.

Soon enough, the two women occupied the table near the window, the bags with their purchases scattered around them.

Paolo reemerged from the kitchen carrying two shining chalices filled to the brim with the sweet-smelling dessert, winking cheekily at Grace before leaving.

It was the most decadent thing Grace had ever seen: four different flavours of gelato formed in neat scoops, a thick blanket of chocolate covering it. It cracked once she dug into it, like an egg-shell.

"Try chocolate and orange, It's divine. Oh and the lemon sorbet." The raven haired woman nudged her friend so enthusiastically she could hardly refuse.

She spooned the cold desert into her mouth, her eyes closing in delight. It was unlike anything she ever tasted and the depth of its flavour pleasantly surprised her. "I'm a chocolate gal for sure." She concluded.

"You would've loved my brother Alessandro - couldn't get enough of it."

For all the weeks she had known her, Caterina rarely spoke of her family. Brow rising in question, she asked. "Oh where is he?"

Caterina grimaced a bit. "Dead."

The effect of her words was instantaneous. Grace's face paled as she lamely struggled to apologise, spluttering, panic evident in her blue eyes. "Oh! Oh God I'm sorry-"

Cat cut her off politely before she could dissolve into more apologetic ranting. "Don't fret about it, you couldn't have known." She paused. Grace could see her eyes glaze over. "They sent him to Gallipoli 'cause he knew Greek."

_And you were the one who taught him Greek_, whispered that vile little voice that liked to torment her as of late.

Although most prefered to ignore the fact the war ended a little over a year ago, it was the little, everyday things that liked to slap them in the face that opened the old wounds and forgotten memories.

It was the way Maria still made the dinning table for four, not three people. War veterans, now turned beggars, knocked on the doors of bakeries and restaurants pleading for a scrap or two. A missing eyes, a lack of a finger or a limb and an empty look in their eyes. The most desperate ones turned up in the Cut in the early morning.

"I lost an uncle, in the war, too." Grace offered meekly. Sensing the desperate need to change the painful subject she turned her attention to the food.

"How did you get the idea to open a gelato shop? I've heard about the London ones." The question changed her friend's demeanor, eyes lighting up in an instant.

"Well, every lady needs a little shop to launder money, am I right?" She winked cheekily, making her laugh. "It keeps my mind off things I suppose. And people seem to like it."

It was more than true - the parlor was bustling with life. Young couples trading shy glances over their cups, grandparents spoiling their grandchildren with the icy treat, friends sharing saucy gossip.

"Now tell me, what does a pretty Irish girl do in the slums of Birmingham?"

She was threading on thin ice now, Grace knew. It was no doubt Caterina knew when someone lied - and she was about to lie straight to her face.

"I was born and bred in Galway but I moved with my parents to Dublin when the war began. Moving to Birmingham, well..I wanted a fresh start, forget the past." It was true, to an extent. The situation in her homeland was far too turbulent for her to stand idly by, with a dose of vengeance the Crown gladly took.

"Was it a man?"

A rueful smile appeared on her lips. "Isn't it always?"

"And you just took a boat across the sea, by yourself?" Caterina wondered. If only she had such freedom. "Left everything in the jolly old Ireland."

"It's 1920 'round the corner, Cat." Grace nodded proudly. "I like to think I'm an independent woman."

Cat raised her spoon in an overly dramatic way. "A toast. To strong, independent women."

"May we be them, may we raise them."


	8. VI | BILLY THE KING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat loves terrorising priests now confirmed

**VI | BILLY THE KING**

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍'𝐒 forty year service as a shepherd of the flock of the Christ, last six months of which have been spent here at St. Andrew's church in Bordsley, had made him develop a monotonous daily routine he thoroughly enjoyed.

Like any day before, he finished his midday meal with appetising delight and washed it down with some fine wine from the church cellar, halfway dreaming about the comfortable solitude of his quarters where he would rest until the evening mass.

_Prop my feet up, and a good book_, mused the priest, keys on his belt jingling in rhythm with the sagging jowls of his face.

Light filtered into the humble room, steadily illuminating the crooked bookshelf lined with century old manuscripts of religious texts, some of which he brought all the way from Coventry. Above a small cot hung a delicate golden crucifix, an olive branch stuck between the wood of the cross and the wall.

A hand with several rings could be seen first - a simple band of gold and a signet, and one richly encrusted with rubies - gripping the arm of his chair. Olive skin peaked from beneath the billowing darkness of the coat. Two amber, cat-like eyes lazily followed his movements. Henry Brown felt like a cornered church mice faced with a hungry feline.

"Good evening,_ padre._"

Hollow and sharp would be the way he described the voice coming from beneath the fedora, tactfully tilted over the interlocutors face. He sees her every Saturday, lighting the candles with Polly Gray at the shrine made for the boys that lost their lives in the war. Two fierce sinners finding solace in the holiest of the places.

The former vicar informed him that the church he was now in charge of was a neutral ground of sorts, and equally belonged to two dominant gangs of the city, the Blinders and the Italians. At first it confused him, for how could a city be _owned_ by those people?

_Things will happen,__ bad__ things, dear Henry. Keep your head down and don't get in their way. _Father Moore told him, and rightfully so.

It took him only a couple of titles in the papers, of violent affairs and mutilated bodies washing up on the banks of the canal, to come to the understanding of where he truly came.

And now, Father Henry was slapped with a terrifying realisation - he was going to die.

With a lump in his throat, he shut the door gently as if not to disturb the phantom like creature in his armchair. Several seconds passed, none of them making a move. Henry tightly grasped the rosary in his pocket before speaking.

"Miss Cardinale," his eyes warily observed the revolver sitting like an obedient pet on her lap, voice wavering. "It is forbidden to enter the house of God with such weaponry."

"No one will be harmed tonight, _Padre._" She smiled tactfully, the other part of that sentence hanging in the tense air of the room. _If you comply, naturally._

"I must ask you for a favour." Caterina reclined in the chaise, lazily leaning on one side. It was not as if she _wanted_ to do this - no, wait. It was a lie, she loved instilling fear in churchmen. The mighty men that lived off of people's donations and taxes, preaching idiocities. Now that she needed one for a particular situation, she decided she might as well enjoy herself a bit.

"You are aware St Andrew's is a neutral territory and I can't really - "

"Not on Cardinale business tonight. I'm on Shelby business."

As if injected with a sudden gust of courage, the priest retorted. "What if I say no?"

_Wrong answer_, she mused to herself. Slowly procuring a cigarette with her lithe fingers, she took her time placing it between her chapped lips and lighting the other end. Torturous for the priest, but most amusing to her. Exhaling, she smirked knowingly.

"I wonder what the bishop would say when he finds out you've been taking the church money and funding the start up of the Young Communist League."

"How did-I-" _No cross can help me now._

A blank, emotionless stare shut the babbling of the graying vicar.

"It was _not_ a question _, Padre._"

* * *

Ada tapped her foot impatiently, glancing over her shoulder for what seemed like a millionth time. It was reckless of her to dare herself to walk right through the Blinders territory in her wedding dress. And yet the imperious sense of _fuck you _she intended to serve to her brother gave her gleeful satisfaction.

"Did you give Freddie the talk?" She asked Caterina once she appeared at the back doors of the church. The other woman rolled her eyes, smoothing down the elegant navy dress she donned for the occasion.

"Didn't need to. He knows what I'd do to him if he ever hurts you."

Caterina paused in front of her, suddenly at a loss for words. "Look at you." Emotions constricted her throat, like a pill hard to swallow. She busied herself with readjusting Ada's veil, smoothing out the wrinkles in the lacework like a fussing mother.

"What? Do I look bad?"

"No, no_," _a disbelieving laugh escaped her lips._ "_Ada you're beautiful."

"Are you sure you want to do this now? Without your family."

Ada looked almost offended at such notion, face churning into a sour expression mirroring the inner distaste for her brother's recent actions. "You mean Tommy? He's as good as dead to me."

It was not entirely true, for deep down, out of all her brothers she always loved him the best. He had always been her fiercest protector and a pillar of support. But both were as stubborn as bulls and immovable in their convictions.

Cat sighed in exasperation. It was nearing six in the afternoon when she was supposed to meet Polly for a cuppa with rum and a chat. Now though, she would also be the one to break the news about Ada's nuptials.

"I meant Polly and your other brothers. They love you just as I do." She tried to reason.

The only Shelby daughter shook her head, unyielding. "No, they made their stand, with Thomas. You're the only family I need."

With a tear burning in her eye, she reached up to cover Ada's face with the white veil they _borrowed_ from a dress shop last night.

"Then let's go make you Mrs. Ada Thorne, _si_?"

* * *

"... and then I knocked 'im down, right in the noggin'. Took me tooth but I bet he still feels shit in his nose."

Caterina hid her laughter behind the playing cards in her hands, unsuccessfully, only to burst in a fit of giggles several moments later. In truth, the story Arthur was telling was not that funny but it was in the way he interpreted it - in his gruff Brummie accent and with more curses than necessary - that made her forget her poise and relax for the first time in a long while.

It struck her like a lightning when Thomas asked her to join him and the brothers to play cards at The Garrison.

_She had been drinking tea with Polly in their dingy kitchen at Watery Lane when he marched in like a well-dressed thunderstorm. Without thinking, she stood up abruptly, m_ _oments later cursing herself for behaving like an airheaded schoolgirl_ _. _

_Both startled _ _by_ _ each others presence, they stood frozen,_ _ gazes interlocked_ _ until Polly pointedly cleared her throat. Snapping back to reality he muttered his invitation and, not waiting for her reaction, disappeared up the stairs, leaving her bewildered and Polly smirking in her cup. _

Finally coming to her senses, only a few more chuckles escaping her lips, she drew another card from the stack. Grace pushed inside the booth hauling a bucket of beer and setting it atop the table, messing up their cards in the process.

"I was winnin' !" John spluttered, making the other occupants of the booth roll their eyes.

"Don't shit John," Caterina tugged her cards form underneath the bucket. " We've been playin' for an hour and you've not been close once."

A round of laughter sounded from the players, Arthur jovially hitting her on the back. "Yeah we're keeping you alright." John's face burned red. "Go and play snap with Finn."

"Did you want whiskey as well?" Grace asked Tommy softly, eyelashes subtly fluttering in his direction. It did not go unnoticed by the oldest Shelby brother, watching the exchange with interest.

"No, just beer." Tommy shook his head, focusing on his cards.

Noticing the disheveled appearance of their favourite barmaid Caterina abandoned her cards, leaving them face down on the table. "I'll help you out there."

It earned her a thankful smile from Grace as they filtered out of the booth. Before she shut the doors, she narrowed her eyes at the brothers, raising a threatening finger in their direction. "Don't you fucking dare touch my cards."

"Why no whiskey, Tommy?" Arthur squinted at his brother. "Are you expecting trouble?"

Tommy ignored his question, picking up another card instead. The jolly crowd on the other side of the door grew louder, making them cringe at the awful cacophony of drunken voices. "Jesus Christ, Tommy. What the hell made you let them sing? " John chuckled, the toothpick in his mouth bobbing along.

"They sound like they're strangling cats out there."

"All right, twenty to play. Come on." Arthur diverted their attention back at the game at hand. He paused, narrowing his eyes at his younger brother. It was curious, the change in Tommy's behaviour. Little details, like the way he seemed to pay more attention to Finn or the fact he brooded a bit less than in the previous months. The thought that his brother might be recovering from the horrors of war warmed his heart. And he certainly had an idea of who he should thank for that. The oblivious fools would never admit it, though.

"What _did_ make you change your mind though, Tommy? Mmm?"

John showed his face form behind the cards, smirking cheekily. "Yeah, I mean,- It's about time, Tommy." He was not the only one that noticed the way Tommy's eyes followed Caterina's form when she exited the room.

"Time for what?"

"Time you took yourself a woman." John nudged his head in the direction of the door, through which Caterina disappeared moments ago.

"Just play the bloody hands." Thomas shook his head at their ramblings, yet unable to stop a small smile forming on his lips.

"You stay the way you are, Tommy. Remember what Dad used to say -" Arthur started, throwing his hand around John's shoulders.

"Fast women and slow horses, " Arthur and John chorused, two equally mocking grins etched on their faces. "..will ruin your life."

Before anything more could be said, bright headlights shining through the windows of The Garrison, the sound of car tires soon following.

"Coppers?" John questioned. Tommy had a feeling that was not quite true.

The doors of the pub burst open with a bang, two armed men flanking the entrance. What was a rambunctious mass of people only moments ago became silent like a tomb.

Caterina tugged Grace behind her, the two slowly backing towards the bar and poor Harry clutching his cleaning cloth behind it.

In came _the King_. Not King George, no - _King William Kimber_ entered the pub, his polished shoes clicking against Garrison's rotting floorboards. Caterina was sure she had never seen a man with such arrogant posture in her life - greasy hair slicked back against his scalp, clean cut suit and the most ugly moustache she had the displeasure to see.

The bartender's jaw fell open in sheer shock. "Holy shit. It's Billy Kimber." Harry gasped.

"Is there any man here named _Shelby_?" Billy Kimber sneered, eyes glaring over the people in the pub, frozen in fear. Not getting the answer he was expecting, he pulled his gun towards the ceiling, firing a shot. People screamed and covered their heads as pieces of paint and wood fell from above, followed by a thick cloud of dust.

"I said: is there any man here named Shelby?" He repeated.

Tommy opened the door of the booth, the Blinders filtering out behind him. His eyes never left Kimber's face as he ordered the bartender. "Harry, get these men a drink."

"Everyone else, go home." The effect of his words was instantaneous as the men scrambled for the door, most sobered by the shock of what they witnessed and desperate to get away from the pub.

As the mass began to move, Caterina turned to the horror stricken Irishwoman by her side. "You go home."

"But Mr Fenton said- " She protested weakly.

Caterina's eyes hardened, irritated by the blonde's persistence. "_Santo Dio_, Grace, go bloody home." Taking the tray with whiskey from her hands she signaled towards the back exit. Not willing to bicker with her she nodded, disappearing out the back.

The remaining Blinders placed a table between them with three chairs on one side for the Shelby brothers and two on the other for Kimber and his man. Setting her tray on the table, Caterina was quick to pour each of the men a glass of whiskey before retreating, choosing to stand behind Tommy's chair.

Trying not to show the disgust at the way Kimber's eyes trailed lustfully over her features, Cat tightened her grip on the back of the chair.

"I've never approved of women in pubs but when they look like that.." He whistled appreciatively, making her skin crawl. "Must be a good fuck, aye?"

"You said you wanted men called Shelby. You've got three of them." Thomas interrupted him, wanting to draw his attention away from the woman behind him. He lit a match, bringing it up to the cigarette in his mouth.

"Right, I'd never heard of ya," his nasal voice grated her ears. "Then I did hear of ya, some little Didicoy razor gang. I thought to myself, so what? But then you fuck me over so now you have my undivided attention."

"By the way," Kimber gestured between the three Shelby brothers. "Which one am I talking to? Who's the boss."

"Well, I'm the oldest." Arthur informed him, sitting up. It prompted a mocking scoff from Kimber.

"Clearly." The King chuckled.

John's stare darkened, leaning forward. "Are you laughing at my brother?" It hardly intimidated Kimber, only making him more amused.

"Right, he's the oldest," He pointed at Arthur, then at the fuming John. "You're the thickest." Lastly he narrowed his eyes at Tommy, calmly sitting back in his chair, smoking.

"I'm told the boss is called Tommy and I'm guessing that's you cos you're looking me up and down like I'm a fucking tart." He was, indeed, doing just that.

"I want to know what you want." Tommy asked, keeping his facade calm.

With a subtle cough, the man at Kimber's side spoke up in a posh, patient tone. "There were suspicious betting patterns at Kempton Park. A horse called Monaghan Boy. He won by a length twice and then finished last with £3,000 bet on him."

"Which one am I talking to?" Tommy questioned, knowing full well which one of them was Kimber, but taking enjoyment in pushing the mobster's buttons. "Which one of you is the boss?"

"I am Mr Kimber's advisor and accountant." The speckled man simpered.

"And I'm the fucking boss, OK? Right, end of parley, you fixed a race without my permission." Kimber was foaming at his mouth, standing up from his chair in rage.

"You fucking Gypsy scum what live off the war pensions of these poor old Garrison Lane widows! That's your level! I am Billy Kimber, I run the races and you fixed one of them so I'm going to have you shot against a post." He spat, turning around with the intention of leaving the place.

"Mr Kimber." Thomas pulled put the cursed bullet from his pocket, tossing it at the man. "Look at it. That is my name on it. It's from the Lee family. You are also at war with the Lees, Mr Kimber, am I right?" He prodded, waiting for a reaction.

"The Lees are attacking your bookies and taking your money. Your men can't control them. You need help."

"Perhaps we should listen to what Mr Shelby has to say." The accountant acted as a voice of reason, trying to calm his boss's temper. "Before we make our decisions."

"Right, the Lees are doing a lot of talking at the fairs. They have a lot of kin. They're saying the racetracks are easy meat because the police are busy with strikes." Thomas paused, letting the information sink in. "Now, we have connections. We know how they operate. You have muscle. Together we can beat them. Divided, maybe not."

"Mr Kimber, perhaps we should take some time for reflection. Possibly make arrangements for a second meeting."

"I admire you, Mr Kimber." Tommy grit his teeth, stealthily lying straight through them. "You started with nothing and built a legitimate business. It would be an honour to work with you, Mr Kimber."

"Nobody works _with_ me. People work _for_ me." Kimber stated arrogantly. He fished a coin out of his pocket and threw it at Tommy's feet. Somehow, his face remained impassive despite the continuous degradation coming from Billy Kimber.

"Pick it up, Pikey." He ordered, eyes flickering in amusement between Tommy and the coin.

As Thomas made move to pick up the coin, Arthur and her tensed up John on the other hand stood up in protest. Caterina was quick to place a placating hand on his shoulder, gently nudging him to stand down.

"Sit. _Sit down." _Tommy ordered his brother before leaning down to retrieve the coin. John's nostrils flared in rage, but still he sat down again, gave him a light squeeze on the shoulder as a reassurance, earning her a thankful nod before she resumed her place.

"That's for your ceiling." Kimber said, glancing up at the hole in the pub's roof.

"Thank you, Mr Kimber." Tommy called after him, clenching the coin in his hand.

Just as he was starting to walk out of the pub, Kimber turned around, eyes narrowing at Caterina, still standing behind the table. Eyeing her with a sudden curiosity he motioned her to step forward.

"You, pretty girl, what are you doing with this scum?"

She circled the table to where Thomas stood. He watched their exchange like a hawk. Batting her eyelashes she said. "I'm Caterina Cardinale, Mr Kimber. And I have a business proposition for you."

Realisation flashed through his eyes at her last name, quickly turning into a mocking smirk. She had seen many of those, patronising sneers once she presented herself as a woman in charge of the financial dwellings of Cardinale Imports. In truth, she wondered if she'll ever be rid of them.

"Right _girly_. You one of them Cardinale lemon fuckers? There's only one business I'd do with ya." Billy gave her a sleazy grin, eyes trailing over the curves of her dress. On her right, Thomas tensed, the hand in which he held the coin clenching tightly.

"I'll give you the names of men on your payroll currently spying on you and reporting back to the police." A smug smile covered her lips as she noticed the way Kimber's face contorted into one of silent rage._ That's what you get for underestimating me you piece of shit. _

"We will be at Cheltenham." Kimber's accountant informed the brothers, trying to diffuse the newly created tension in the room.

"As will I." Thomas concluded.

"You," Kimber pointed at Caterina. "Dress pretty and then we might talk."

She threw a saccharine smile his way. She was _this_ close to pulling the gun securely in the holster around her leg. "Of course, sir."

As the doors of The Garrison shut behind the last of Kimber's men, the remaining people in the room released a breath of relief. Arthur slumped back in his chair, dragging his calloused hand over his face. A sudden realisation came to him as all pieces fell into place - it seemed as if every event of the past few days had one purpose, and one purpose only.

"So you picked a fight with the Lees on purpose." Arthur stated in disbelief, watching as Tommy locked the front door. "Tommy, we can't mess with Billy_ fucking _Kimber."

Instead of replying, Thomas crossed the room to where Caterina still stood, slightly leaning on the chair he occupied minutes ago. Reaching forward he gently touched her forearm as if to snap her from a distant dream. Her eyes instantaneously found his, latching onto them like a drowning man to a lifeboat.

"You alright?" He asked, his voice quiet.

She nodded, breathing out a chuckle of relief. "Yup, all gone as planned." They both knew it was only a matter of time before they were forced into confrontation with _The King,_ Billy Kimber, but neither of them were sure if it would end with all of them in one piece.

Releasing her, Tommy reached for a glass of whiskey from the table, raising it towards Arthur triumphantly.

"Get yourself a decent haircut, man." Thomas grinned at his brother. "We're going to the races."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for some unknown reason the Kimber scene was the hardest for me to write?
> 
> i think it's because it's so fluid in the original that it was kind of hard to fit Cat in
> 
> next stop - the races!


	9. VII | A FOUL COMPANY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which thomas shelby really doesn't know how to ask a lady to dance properly

**VII | A FOUL COMPANY**

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒 turned sour the moment Caterina opened her eyes in the morning. That action was followed by an agonised groan at the infernal sun hitting her face.

She could hardly tell if the dull ache in her head came from that fifth bottle of whiskey they opened the night prior or the fact she would have to attend Cheltenham - one of her favourite races of the season — with Billy Kimber.

_The things I do for this family,_ she grumbled begrudgingly as she flung her legs over the side of the bed, careful not to topple down. One step at a time, she shuffled into the bathroom, each feeling like a hammer against the anvil of her skull. _And papà still won't make me a shareholder._

Between vigorous brushing of her black tresses and contemplating whether to drown herself in the bathtub and end her misery then and there, she tried to remember how she got home in one piece last night.

An awful lot of toasts for anything that came to their mind. Someone must have played the old piano by the bar because she remembered Arthur swinging her wildly around the pub and laughing until her lungs ached. Even Thomas smiled, albeit faintly, leaning on the bar and watching them dance.

It was a small gathering at The Garrison, as a celebration of Arthur taking over the pub - Tommy's way of trying to cheer his brother up after another episode of _Flanders Blues_.

Lately, it seemed to her the Shelby's had a particular way of dealing with problems, either drowning them in alcohol or shooting them up.

Still, she felt uneasy after a quarrel with Polly earlier that day. Caterina had the honour of breaking news of Ada's marriage to her aunt, sheepishly admitting that she was the one to help them in the process. It would be an understatement to say Polly was furious, and it was most likely that by the end of their discussion the entire Watery Lane knew of the Shelby daughter's elopement with their friendly neighbourhood communist agitator.

At the very least she was thankful she was not the one that had to break the news to Tommy.

White and beige powder covered the bags under her eyes, the soft round puff gently dabbing her face, particles of it flying around like dust. Several little tins of lipstick laid open in the sink, an opened bottle of mascara lying on the side, forgotten and trickling into the basin. It was a mess, a complete and utter mess that resembled the inside of her mind that morning.

A pinch of morphine in her morning tea would have to do its magic, and by the time she departed, the hellish hungover would be blown away.

Washed and pressed, the cream coloured dress she chose for today hung on the closet door, waiting. It was by far one of the most beautiful garments she ever purchased, almost ethereal in the flowing smoke emitted by her dying cigarette.

In truth, she could care less about impressing Kimber today. It was someone else plaguing her mind as of late, not that she would ever admit it to herself.

With a heavy sigh, Caterina pushed herself from the doorway. There was work to be done._Time to put on the armour._

* * *

Cheltenham was, beyond doubt, the grandest affair of spring in all the Northern England. If you were even remotely important, you had to be seen at the races. Otherwise you simply didn't exist.

Thousands of pounds flowed through the hands of bookmakers and thousands of glasses of champagne ran through the veins of the attending. The wealthiest of the lot raced their prized horses for the entertainment of the masses, losing and gaining some a fortune.

Killing the engine of her sleek black Bentley, she took a moment to stare at the jockeys passing by. That was the dream of eleven year old Caterina, to race against the odds and chase wind. Horse riding was her first love, a simple one, ripped so cruelly from beneath her by her family's ambitions. Her fate had always been set in stone, it seemed.

As planned last night — before the copious amounts of alcohol - Tommy would be arriving soon, but through the back door as the Lee's would most definitely jump to the opportunity to slit his throat.

Caterina, on the other hand opted for the grand entrance. Among the sea of heads covered by ostentatious headpieces, miles of satin and lace and pearls, she fit in like she was born for the glittering dance-floor of the ballroom.

In truth, she was born for black leather and smoke, unrepentant sinner, hands dripping with blood.

"Name, miss?"

She smiled pleasantly at the doorman, peering to look at the guest list in front of him. "Caterina Cardinale, I'm with-"

"Let her in, she's with me." Swivelling to look at the origin of the voice, Caterina graciously nodded towards the man of the day. "Mr Kimber. It's a pleasure once again."

It was far from it, really. Still, she allowed him to kiss her hand and led her towards the grand ballroom, one hand on the small of her back.

The insufferable man smirked, not at all subtly measuring her up and down. "No, no the _pleasure_ is all mine. First time at Cheltenham?"

Suppressing a dramatic roll of her eyes, she opted for another pleasant smile. A regular to the races since she turned eleven, is what she was, but she hardly had the patience to argue with him. "Not quite."

A small, plain woman sat at the end of the table, eyes filled with contempt scanning the people in the room. It had to be the unfortunate Mrs Kimber. Once she spotted Caterina, all dolled up like a pictures star, a sour look crossed her features. Probably thought her to be one of the air-headed slags her husband favoured. On her left was Kimber's trusty bespectacled accountant.

Once seated and having accepted a glass from a passing waiter, Caterina wasted no time in frivolities and jumped straight into business.

"You put too much trust in Changretta's men. They're the ones offering you personal protection, _si_ ?" Not waiting for the men's answer she continued.

"From a trusted source I've acquired the information that Changretta gets a monthly sum of around a hundred pounds from a London address — most likely from Darby Sabini. It seems he pays quite a lot for information on _you_, Mr Kimber. The two of you are sworn enemies, if I'm correct?" She asked innocently, taking a sip of champagne.

"How'd I know you ain't lying? You've got proof? You think I'm going to fire men that have been protecting me for years because someone or other told you somethin' ?" His patronising tone grated her ears. He was one of _those _who simply liked the sound of their own voice.

"You haven't slept with your wife in more than 15 months and instead, you opt for whores and other easy women you manage to woo during the races. You keep a stash of whiskey in the back of your closet. And today, your horse Windmare will lose, earning you well over seven thousand pounds from the bets."

Caterina took her sweet time lighting the cigarette carefully nested between her lips, making her point and leaning back into the chair. For the sake of dramatics, she exhaled the smoke in her mouth. "_That's _how I know."

The King's face turned various shades of red, the grip on his glass tightening to the point Cat though it might just break in his hand. "Fuckin' Italian traitors I'll kill the lot-"

"Mr Kimber, leave that to me. Instead, let us consider the employment of my men as your personal security. You don't have to worry about me ratting you out. Us Cardinale's hold little love for our London kin."

Kimber narrowed his eyes at the woman sitting opposite of him. "I suspect you want something in return."

"Naturally. A small favor, really. I would like to supply the racetracks you control with my booze, first gin and then with time whiskey. For that I would need an alcohol distribution license." _A springboard for opportunities._

"I believe that can be arranged. Do you agree Mr Kimber?" The accountant glanced expectantly at his boss.

"Mhm, yes yes." The moment they started talking business, all of his attention was completely lost. He let her and Roberts discuss for a time, focusing his eyes on the new faces entering the grand hall.

One of his hands managed to find its way up her leg, dangerously straying upwards. He leaned forward, warm breath tickling her ear uncomfortably. "How about we escape the party for a bit huh? I'll show you some good time."

Without removing her eyes from his, she slowly picked his hand off of her knee, letting it drop lamely by his side. She gently leaned down,and with a tight-lipped smile on her face said. "My apologies, Mr Kimber. But I _never_ mix business and pleasure."

Like a kicked puppy, Kimber retreated, slumping in his chair in defeat. He drummed his fingers in boredom, glancing back and forth between Cat and Roberts discussing paperwork. Not even bothering to excuse himself from the table, he rose and disappeared in the sea of twirling couples in search of a new victim, leaving his accountant to sort the _boring _bits of his work.

Using his absence to her advantage she leaned closer to Roberts. "One more thing. I'm interested in renting your warehouses on Liverpool docks."

It had come to her attention that the American market was a flower waiting to be plucked and it would be a true shame not to use the opportunity just waiting to be grabbed. The prohibition was an unfortunate situation for the Americans but very fortunate for her.

"For a rate of sixty percent of the revenue achieved through Liverpool, it can be arranged."

She snorted at the number the accountant was offering. "Absolutely ridiculous. I was thinking twenty-five."

"Fifty percent, no less."

"Thirty."

"Forty five and a discount on gin import for the tracks." Roberts squinted through his glasses, partly knowing it was not a battle he could win.

"Thirty-five and a fifteen percent discount off large shipments of any type of booze."

"A deal, I believe."

With a satisfied grin, Caterina leaned back into the chair. "A deal it is. Where do I sign?"

* * *

Thankfully, only few moments after Kimber returned to the table, Thomas Shelby made his grand appearance. Sauntering over to where the four of them sat, the retrieved money was tipped all over the table, some spilling over the edge like a waterfall.

"Your money, Mr Kimber." Tommy gestured grandly at the pile accumulated before him. "Rescued from the Lee brothers and returned to you with a request for a fair hearing."

She faintly eyed Grace looking completely lost by the bar while Tommy took a seat to her right. The red dress she had tried on the week before nicely hugged her figure. For her purpose today, all she had to do was to be a pretty face - Kimber didn't seem to have any other standard.

"Your own protection is failing, Mr Kimber. Your boys are taking cuts. I want to suggest that from now on, you contract out your racetrack security to the Peaky Blinders. We would be saving you a lot of money, Mr Kimber."

"A lot of money." Caterina piped in, nodding her head towards the money in front of them. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Tommy giving her a thankful look before resuming his speech.

"In return, you give us five percent of the take and three legal betting pitches at every race meeting north of the River Severn, rising to six after one year if we are all satisfied with the service. What do you say, Mr Kimber?"

"I say you talk business to my accountant. I want to dance."

And with that, he stood up, determined look in his eyes as he set out towards Grace, looking more like a wild predator than a businessman.

"How many men can you put in the field at one time?" Inquired Roberts.

"There's a lot of men out of work at the moment. Two guards for every bookie."

"We'll always know where the Lees plan to attack. With all the strikes and troubles, you can't depend on the police. Anyway, we're more honest." Thomas joked, earning him an amused smile from Roberts.

"Looks like you two are making a deal." Kimber showed up behind Tommy.

"We are making progress."

"Then let me throw a small condition into the mix." He nodded for Tommy to follow him away from the table. Cat straightened up in her seat. _This was it, did he take the bait?_

Caterina observed the animated way Kimber was explaining something to Thomas, subtly nodding over to the table where she sat. Feigning innocence, she diverted her gaze to the champagne glass in her hand, not noticing the way Tommy's posture tensed or the dark look burning in his eyes.

_"I want that one."_

_"No, the one in the red only."_

_"Do we have a deal? As a sweetener, you can try your luck with mine."_

_"Yes, we have a deal."_

_Good. _Cat suppressed a sigh of relief, the plan was going as it was supposed to. From the moment he stepped foot in the Pub that other night, it was obvious Kimber would want anything Tommy had, or in this case the blonde beauty on his arm.

Foreseeing such predicament, they planted their little barmaid in his mind, all red and classy, a simple pawn in the great plan.

"I bet he said you could have me, didn't he? While he has her." The woman's defiant glare centred on Thomas.

"That's the arrangement, isn't it? Yours might be a prostitute, but I'm not."

"Mrs Kimber, I give you my word you won't be mistreated tonight." Caterina tried to reassure the bitter woman.

"By your man, I won't." Mrs Kimber sneered.

"I was a milliner when I met him. I was independent. I made this hat." Her voice had gone quiet, focusing on the little hat in her hands. "I was a good milliner."

"It's a very pretty hat." Thomas shifted awkwardly.

"So is she a prostitute?"

She was talking about Grace. Tommy could only shrug, unsure of the answer himself. There was something different about the pretty Irishwoman but he could not simply point it out. "God's honest truth? I don't know."

"Mr Roberts, will you take Mrs Kimber home?" Caterina supplied.

"Yes, yes, Anna please this way." He ushered the woman who threw one last thankful glance at them before hurrying out of the room.

The two waited until Anna and Roberts disappeared out of their sight and mind before turning to each other. Relief etched on both of their faces, Caterina let out a huff of laughter.

"That was successful." She breathed, glancing up at Thomas downing both his and hers glass of champagne. He stood up abruptly, signalling her to do the same.

"Yup. Come on. Dance." Thomas stretched out his hand, waiting for her to take it.

Half surprised by his request, she chuckled and took his hand. Larger than hers, calloused by war and time, it felt warm and secure in her tiny one. In the sea of swaying couples Tommy pulled her closer and brought his other hand on her lower back.

Even in her considerably tall heels, her nose barely reached his chin. It didn't bother them in the slightest.

"That's not how you ask a lady to dance. Has Polly not taught you any manners?" She jested, knowing full well Polly did in fact do just that, but Thomas used them only when necessary.

"What use are manners on the dirty streets of Small Heath?" He countered.

Humming in agreement, she let him lead them through the sea of twirling couples. It came as a surprise, but Tommy Shelby was an excellent dancer.

"You're climbing the social ladder now, Shelby. It'll be Cheltenham in March, Epsom in spring, Aston, Wimbledon," she dropped her voice, resembling an old gossip. "_Champagne _instead of ale."

He looked down at her, one eyebrow raised in what must have been amusement. "Ambitious."

"Isn't that your middle name?" That half smile of his now grew into a proper one.

"You clean up nicely. For a Small Heath bookmaker."

"Do I? You look beautiful. For a Nechells gangster." It provoked another smile from her as she ducked her head, blush gently dusting her cheeks.

"You know, I didn't ask you nicely because I wasn't asking a lady." He drawled casually, every syllable dripping with his accent.

Almost offended and already shooting him a venomous glare, he took her by surprise.

He closed the distance between them, their chest touching, so close she could hear the steady beat of his heart. Her own threatened to jump out of her chest.

Feeling his warm breath by her ear caused a now all too familiar fluttering sensation to fly over her heart.

"I was askin' a queen."

And with that, the warmth was gone and he dropped her hand. A smug smirk painted over his handsome face, as if expecting her flustered reaction. Blushing an embarrassing shade of red, she was left standing in the middle of the dance floor, incredulous stare fixed at Tommy's back, who disappeared out of the room and over where the Blinders waited for him.

"That doesn't make any sense, you sod!"

* * *

Although Maria tried to instill into her from an early age that biting nails is an awful habit to she possess, Caterina kept gnawing at them any time she was faces with a stressful situation.

For that precise reason she ruined her freshly painted rose nails. On the drivers seat, Thomas squirmed again, not in any better a predicament.

Growing tired of him glancing at his pocket watch for the fourth time, she broke the tense silence. "It just feels wrong. We sold her like a piece of meat."

As if denying what she said, Thomas shook his head. "She got her pay. I could've gotten any whore who'd do it for less." It was just a business transaction, and to him Grace seemed thoroughly competent to do what she was asked to.

"Dammit Thomas, she's my friend." She said. A thousand scenarios flew through her head, every worse than the one before. "I can't just sit here while he-_ I don't know_\- rapes her, or worse!" Her dark stare contested his icy blues. A few tense moments passed before Thomas let out a begrudging sigh indicating her victory.

"Ah, fuck. Fuck it. Stay here." He swore under his breath before rushing out of the car.

Several minutes later two figures emerged from the mansion - Grace, a definition of fury stalking right pass the car she Cat was sitting in, dress and hair disheveled, and Thomas trying to catch up with her.

"Grace get in the car."

"I can walk on my own!"

"Grace, dear, please we can explain." Caterina called after her pleadingly.

"You were onto this too? I can't believe it. No, wait I can. Because you," She stopped walking for a moment to point an accusing finger at them, " are Thomas Shelby and Caterina Cardinale and you don't care about others!" She spat, throwing her hands in the air.

Thomas stopped the car for her to get in. Grace clambered onto the backseat, not even sparing them a glance, hugging herself tightly. Fighting tears in her eyes, she tried to focus on counting the trees they passed in the speeding car. If she closed her eyes, she though she might feel Kimber's grabbing hands tugging at her ruined dress again.

"Start of the day, I was Lady Sarah of Connemara. By the end, I was a whore with the clap. You're a fucking bastard, offering me like that."

Guilt churned Caterina's gut. It could not be properly justified, the deceitful game Tommy and her played. For too long they had been on the top of everything, not bothering about the feelings of people on the other end of their orders.

"But then you changed your mind." She said quietly, turning her head.

"Why did you change your mind, Thomas?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, almost unnoticeably, he let his eyes wander over to the woman sitting on the passenger seat, one hand propped under her chin and slowly dozing off with the rhythm of the car engine. The lights of the dying day reflected in her amber eyes.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, in that very moment, Thomas knew he was too far gone.


	10. VIII | A WEDDING TO END A WAR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which it takes a grenade, a wedding and an inconvenient labour to put some thing in perspective

**VIII | A WEDDING TO END A WAR**

𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐄 to a Shelby family meeting made Caterina venture into The Garrison for what seemed the hundredth time that month.

The usual attendees of the bar barely looked up from their drinks when she strode in, her usual fitted coat shielding her from the chilly February day, and a grey tweed dress peaking from underneath.

With a passing wave to a tired looking Grace tending the bar, she disappeared inside the private booth, only to find the Shelby's fully assembled and waiting. 

"Right, sorry I'm late. Sorry John, and thank you for inviting me. " She had tried to argue with him on that, but he insisted. In a frighteningly short time she had become an extension to their family, something she didn't mind in the very least. With a pang of regret, she realised, they were more of a family to her than her own bloodline.

"No, no thank _you_, you opened my eyes that other night here, when you spoke about uh- life being short and love and all that."

"When the fuck did I say that?" Vaguely shocked at that discovery she turned to look at Polly, far too amused for he liking. She bumped her with her elbow, hissing. "Did you hear me say that?"

"Yeah, somewhen after declaring war on the communists and losing twenty pounds on cards with the boys." 

"_Jesus_ fuck." Running a hand over her face, she took a swig of beer passed over by someone at the table.

"As I was saying," John hesitated, mentally preparing for the complete storm he was about to cause. "That's why I'm getting married."

"Does this poor girl know you're going to marry her or are you going to spring it on her all of a sudden?" 

"I've already proposed and she said yes."

"I think there's a shell about to land and go bang." Thomas mused, an unlit cigarette hanging lazily from his lips.

"It's, er - It's Lizzie Stark." John confessed, waiting for the inevitably terrible reaction. Several people in the booth unceremoniously spit out their drinks in surprise, Cat among them.

Caterina threw her hands up in surprise. _"Santo Dio!"_

"John." Polly exclaimed staring at her nephew, truly wondering if he was being serious. "Lizzie Stark's a strong woman and I am sure she provides a fine service for her customers." Another round of unconcealed laughter sounded from them. 

"I won't hear the word. Understand? Do not use that word." John straightened up in defence of his prospective bride.

On Polly's left, Cat stayed silent like a tomb, lips parted in surprise and an unlit cigarette halfway to them. If anyone were to glance her way they would notice the burning red of her cheeks, recalling quite intimately the events of the night prior. 

_ Incessant rain tapped against the wooden windowpane, stirring the inhabitants of the room out of their lazing slumber. _

_ Caterina's form laid spread over the cushions, lace of her dainty nighty carelessly hiked up above her hipbone. Eyes closed, she let the smoke of her cigarette dance above her head_

_ "Don't smoke on my fuckin' bedsheets."_

_ A cheeky smile slowly spread over her lips. Purposefully, she exhaled the poisonous coils and snuggled deeper into the coarse linen of the bedding. _

_ "I'll buy some new fuckin' sheets." She popped open her eye, glancing over to the slender woman sitting at the adjacent desk. One hand propped under her chin, she glared at Cat over a steaming cup of tea. _

_ "You do know, I pay you to fuck me, not criticize me." _

_ "It's a special service you get for our friendship." _

It was John's rage fueled threat that snapped her back to present.

"Right, I want it known if anyone calls her a _whore_ again, I will push the barrel of my revolver down their throats and blow the word back down into their hearts." He seethed at his family members, sick of the way they spoke about one person that finally seemed to care about _him_, about his feelings.

"Men and their cocks never cease to amaze me." Polly sighed in exasperation, turning to Cat for support. "John, Lizzie Stark never did a day's work vertical."

"She's changed." _Silly boy, no she hasn't. _

"All right." Arthur turned his attention back at the beer in his hand.

"People change. Like wi-wi-with religion." It was a losing battle from his side. No amount of convincing would soften the hearts of his family.

"Oh, Lizzie Stark has got religion, eh?" Thomas poked at him from his place leaning on the wall.

"No, no, she doesn't have religion. But, well, she loves me." John turned to his brother, pleadingly. 

"Now, listen, Tommy. I won't do it without your blessing. But of all the people in the world. I want you to see it...as brave."

Oh, the noble heart of John Shelby. Martha would talk about him hours on end, when the four of them stayed the nights awake, swapping stories of their boys out there in the cold, damp trenches and tents. It felt like a lifetime ago.

One day she was there, laughing and cooking for the lot of them, children clinging to her leg. And then, all at once, she was gone and four children remained behind, motherless.

"It's brave all right." Muttered Arthur, taking a swig of his beer.

"_Brave_ is going where no man has gone before." Polly started, barely containing a straight face.

"Or woman." Caterina added, albeit quietly. 

"With Lizzy Stark, John, that is really not what you'll be doing."

"Listen, Tommy." John ignored his aunt's protests, turning to the one man who's opinion mattered the most.

"Welcome her to the family. As someone who's had a hard life. All right? Because, I need someone. All right, the kids need someone."

"Listen, John, I said I can watch the kids when Finn comes over, _no problemo_. This is just-"

Without warning, the youngest Shelby crashed into the snug, red faced and panting. "Tommy! We've been done over! 

Not sparing another word the four Shelby's rushed through the door, Polly's firm grip tugging Caterina along with them.

Caterina hoped she would never have to see a proper battlefield, but the Shelby headquarters now looked eerily like the ones depicted in history books.

Discarded papers littered the floor, chairs and tables thrown over and hacked at. Absolutely everything in the shop was turned over, knocked down or broken. The oldest Shelby brother hurried to the one unfortunate man that was left to tend to the shop, now holding his bleeding face.

"What the bloody hell happened here?"

"Jesus Christ." John cursed, kicking a wooden crate in frustration.   
  


"The Lees. All of them; cousins, nephews, even bastards." The man- Scudboat - said, wincing as he tried to stop the blood flowing from the fresh cut on his head, courtesy of the Lee family. Arthur passed him some whiskey, both for the pain and the wound.

"They've taken anything they can lay their hands on," growled Polly. "Four cash boxes."

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas noticed a peculiar object on top of the fireplace. He wandered over to it, picking it up and showing it to everyone in the room. A grim look crossed his face. "They left these"

Caterina inched closer to take a better look. "Wire cutters?"

"Why would they leave wire cutters?" An unspoken exchange was passed among the brothers, all three of them knowing something.

"Nobody move," Arthur warned, raking his eyes around the rooms. "I think our friends are playing the game."

_ "What _game?" Insisted Polly. She started walking towards the back of the office, only for John to step in front of her.

"Aunt Pol. _Don't_ touch anything." John warned softly, but firmly.

"Erasmus Lee was in France." Tommy announced. A collective _"Shit."_ was sounded from the veterans.

"When we gave up ground to the Germans," He explained, "we'd leave behind booby traps, set up with wires. And we'd leave wire cutters as part of the joke."   
  


Polly looked at the pair of wire cutters in his hand, eyes widening in horror. "Holy Jesus."  
  


"What a fucking sense of humor." Cat rolled her eyes, frozen to the spot in fear. "_Sanctissima."_

"Somewhere in here there's a hand grenade." Arthur added, slowly making way through the room. "Don't move any chairs or open any doors."

It didn't seem likely, Caterina thought. "I think, if there was a hand grenade here, it would've blown up already. We walked through most of the shop." She reasoned.

Tommy sent her an appreciative look before confirming her words with a nod. "That's right, it's not in here. It was my name on that bullet Erasmus sent. He's set a trap all right. But he's set it up just for me." 

Something still felt wrong as Cat raked her eyes over the shop, eyebrows furrowed. "Pol, have you seen Finn?" They hadn't seen the youngest Shelby sibling since they left The Garrison in a rush.

Arthur peered around the shop, "Yeah, where's the the little rascal?"

One place where only Tommy would go to... Something that belonged solely to him.. From the back of her mind, she remembered him telling her about the bet with Johnny Dogs that started this entire mess. 

Like a punch to the gut, the only possible answer crossed her mind. "The car. The bloody car, Tommy!" 

Caterina followed Tommy's lead as they rushed out of the house and around the corner to the makeshift garage that housed Tommy's priced possession. There, in the driver's seat sat Finn, playing pretend. His eyes lit up the moment he spotted them. 

"Finn, dearest boy, get out of the car the way you came in." Her heart pounded in her ears. One wrong move and.. She tried to suppress the tears starting to form in the corner of her eyes. Beside her, Tommy's eyes flashed with unspeakable panic.

"Look Cat! I'm riding it like Tommy!" The boy grinned proudly, jumping behind the steering wheel. "I can take you to the pictures!"

"A true gentleman." She tried to come closer and placate the boy into exiting the car only to be stopped by Tommy's firm grip. He pushed her back behind him, slowly edging towards the driver's side door himself. 

"Which door did you open to get in, Finn?"

"I didn't, I climbed in." He grinned proudly, turning the wheel left and right. 

"I want you to climb out exactly the same way you climbed in, okay?" 

Finn disregarded the obvious concern on their faces, jumping out of the other door. Caterina looked in horror as a hand grenade rolled out of the car, about to blow any moment. She made a quick work of grabbing Finn and pulling him into her embrace while Tommy took the ticking grenade and chucked it across the road.

A deafening explosion rocked the street, pieces of gravel hitting their turned backs. Ominous flames licked the sky blood red. A pair of strong hands wrapped around her and Finn, shielding them from the impact protectively. 

Once the dust had settled, Caterina ducked down, cradling Finn's dirt covered face between her hands. "Oh you silly, _silly boy._ You don't need to be like Tommy. You need to be like you. Like Finn Shelby, you promise?" 

Shocked by the unexpected explosion, the eleven-year-old simply nodded, staring at his shoes. If anyone had passed they would have seen the two of them checking Finn for injuries like overly concerned parents.

"That's why you should never pretend to be me." Thomas stated firmly, though Cat could hear the shakiness underneath. He pulled his youngest brother in another hug, kissing the top of his hair. 

"Run along to Pol, come on." He pushed him gently towards the house and out of the explosion site. Once Finn was out of sight, Thomas instinctively pulled Cat's shaking form into him. 

"You alright? Did you get hurt?" He rested his hands on her arms, eyes raking over her body in search of any possible scraps. She let herself be comforted by the warmth he emitted, and the concern etched in the icy blue of his eyes.

She shook her head, gently fixing her disheveled hair behind her ear. "Not even a scratch. Gave me a fright that boy." Letting out a sigh of relief, she let their eyes finally connect.

It could have been a lifetime, or at least it felt like it - the way unchainable ocean bore into melting gold. There was something _alive_ in the air they breathed.

The spell was broken - he averted his eyes, letting his hands fall down. With a nod he disappeared back into the betting shop, leaving Cat to calm her racing heart.

She let the chilly evening wind slap her face, the now all too familiar smell of cigarette smoke and gasoline permanently stuck to the fabric of her coat and strings of her heart. 

* * *

  
Gravel crunched beneath the women's shoes, the three of them advancing into the Lee property where the wedding was about to take place. After the unfortunate grenade situation at the Watery Lane, Caterina urged Thomas to end the war with the Lee's, lest someone actually ends up maimed or worse.

He turned up at her office after the negotiations, two wedding invitations in hand - one for Ada and one for her.

Caterina glanced sadly at her lacquered purple heels or what remained of them, anyway. Shining and new when she exited the house were now scrapped and bruised, a thick layer of mud and dust sticking to the soles. But, then again, what did she expect? A lavish farm, cobbled pathways?   
  


"There's been an awful lot of weddings in your family in the last few weeks. Who's next, Arthur?"

Ada snorted, throwing an amused smirk in her direction. "Like shit. As if he could find a sane woman willing to deal with his crap. Though at this point I bet Thomas is willing to trade him off for a good business deal." 

"Do you, John Michael Shelby take Esme Martha Lee to be your beautiful wife?"

Thomas, standing in the crowd surrounding the couple, noticed the arrival of the women. He slipped back from the guests, inching closer to his sister. "You got my invitation?"

"Cat told me about the truce." His sister leveled him with a withering glare. "Glad to know you're using my best friend to send letters now. Having a shortage of lackeys?"

"Family day. Your husband couldn't make it?" He jested. Ada did not find it amusing at all.

"He's not speaking to me. And when he does he calls me a fucking Shelby even though I'm a Thorne now."

"_Thorn_ in my side, that's for sure." He grumbled, although with affection. His pride would never allow him to admit it, but Ada was his weakest spot. From the moment she took her first breath he swore he would protect her from every harm, no matter what.

"My God, Tommy. You admire him, don't you?"

"There remains one more part of the ceremony." Declared a man she later found out was named Johnny Dogs. "It's the mingling of the two bloods. Where the two families become the one family."

Caterina winced slightly as the, most likely, unsanitary knife sliced into John's and Esme's palms, the newly wedded couple then proceeding to press their hands together signaling the deal signed in blood. 

"I now pronounce you man and wife! Come on, John, kiss the bride will you?" 

With hollering and cheers it was Esme who kissed her hew husband first, both quite content with the outcome of the unexpected arrangement.

It was, by far, the most wild party Caterina had ever witnessed. All social decorum aside - though it was debatable if Gypsy's had any - both men and women, children and elderly, swung around in alcohol induced merriment. Fireworks had gone off at some point, followed by gunshots, both scaring the chickens cooped up several yards away.

Her brain was going pleasantly fuzzy, she noted, as she watched the newlyweds sneak little kisses between greeting the guests. Esme seemed like an amiable young woman - she'd do good to John. 

"I've never been to a gypsy wedding, but they do resemble Italian weddings. Lots of traditions, protocols." Caterina brought another glass of - well, whatever the hell it was that the Lee's managed to brew - to her lips. 

The alcohol in her bloodstream untied her tongue, infused her with liquid courage she needed, especially after the events in the garage.

She had gotten bored of Tommy's brooding over the merry crowd of revelers and itched for a good dance to stretch her legs. "Not dancing tonight?"

"No."

"Shame." And with that she marched over to where she noticed Ada chatting with the newest addition to the Shelby family, leaving him to his cigarettes and alcohol and lonesome thoughts. 

"_Come on, spin me round again."_

"You should tell Ada to slow down." Polly nodded towards the two girls laughing with some of the many Lee daughters by the bonfire.  
  


At some point during the night, the ribbons holding Caterina's hair disappeared, allowing the dark waves to tumble over her shoulders. Muddy skirts hiked over her knees and wild glee in her amber eyes, one could mistaken her for a true-blooded gypsy. Ada and her spun around each other like two teenagers, unburdened and free. 

"You think she'll listen to me? I tried to stop her but she's been drinking. Been stuck in that little basement for weeks. What do we expect? She's going off like a firecracker."

"Oh, Christ, Tommy, please." Polly begged as Ada continued to spin like a mad woman.

With a defeated sigh he stood up and made his way to the girls. "Enough now. Come on. _Enough_."

"All right, Ada, come on, have a rest, sit down." Tommy tried to placate his pregnant sister, pushing her towards the chairs. It only fueled the rage bubbling inside her. 

She pushed him away forcibly, trying to squirm out of his grip. "Come and look, Esme. Come and look at the family you've joined. Come and look at the man who runs it. Chooses his brother's wives for them. He hunts his own sister down like a rat and he tries to kill his own brother-in-law!"

"And now you pull my only friend in this shit you do, and you'll ruin her." She screamed, pounding at his unmovable chest. "You don't deserve her." _No, I really don't, Ada._

"Ada, that's enough."

"He won't even let me have a fucking dance! Not even at a fucking wedding!" 

Ada's outburst of rage being like a bucket of cold water over her head, Cat was quickly sobered up by the concern for her best friend and her unborn child. "Ada for fucks sake you'll go into early labour."

Not even a moment later, Ada abruptly stopped her tirade, her breaths getting heavier. And then, with a tiny splash and a trickle, her water broke. 

"Holy shit! Water." Polly stared at the newly formed pool underneath Ada. "Right."

"Not now, Ada." Arthur groaned. "Bloody hell, you do pick your times! Slow her up."

"Did you just tell your sister it's _fuckin' inconvenient-" _

"Cat, it hurts!" Ada's plea turned her attention from the intention of hitting the oldest Shelby brother over his thick head.

In a flurry of motion, the Shelby's packed up in their cars, with Ada clawing at Cat's hand in the back of Tommy's car, her pained screams filling the cold, Birmingham's night.   
  
  


* * *

After almost having left the contents of her stomach somewhere along the road, the car stopped in front of number 6 Water Lane.

"Nice and easy." Thomas passed Ada into Polly's experienced hands. The two rushed into the house, shortly followed by Esme. Stretching out a helping hand to Cat, she clambered out of the car, visibly disheveled by the ride.   
  


"Nice car, John. How's she run?" Thomas asked casually, leaning on the hood and lighting a cigarette. Caterina quickly plucked it from  
his fingers, inhaling twice to calm her nerves before returning it to him. 

"Yeah, beautiful. Really smooth."

"I'll say it again; none like Bentley." Cat tapped the hood of John's new car with an appreciative grin.

"Your sister in there giving birth, you're talking about the bloody car." Polly reappeared at the doorway. She pointed an accusing finger at Cat. "I'm talking to you, too."

Thomas simply shrugged . "Not much us men can do now, Pol." 

"Except go get drunk." Arthur added jovially.

Caterina scoffed, detaching herself from the hood of the car and making way for the door. "That's what you do on regular days, too."

"There's one man should be here." Polly tried to stop him.

"You are right, Pol, Freddie should be here." That stopped Caterina in her tracks. _Was it possible that his unforgiving heart melted for his sister?_

An equally surprised Polly smiled. "Is that a heartbeat I hear inside that chest?" 

"The truce lasts till sunrise. On my oath. Tell Freddie it's safe." He assured his aunt who had already rushed into the house, happily announcing the news to labouring Ada. 

_ "Ada!" _

Only Cat still remained outside, staring at Tommy with a slight smile on her face. She quickly squeezed his hand as a silent_ thank you_ for Ada, before closing the door of the house behind her.

"Right, boys, let's wet this baby's head." Thomas rounded up Arthur and John, the three of them trudging happily down the road to The Garrison.   
  
  
  
  



	11. IX | THE GODMOTHER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which she is practically family and Ada makes sure of it

**IX | THE GODMOTHER**

  
𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 Ada's screams woke up the entire Watery Lane and a good portion of Small Heath. Esme rushed in, an armful of wet towels, as another painful contraction rocked Ada's body.

Polly pressed one to her niece's sweaty forehead, urging her on. "Push. Push, Ada!"

Ada let out a suppressed shriek, nails digging deeper into Caterina's arm. She would later find a purplish bruise forming there and years on one could see tiny white marks where Ada's nails sunk into her flesh.

"I can't!"

The three exchanged an equally concerned look, unsure what to do next.

It would have been an understatement to say Cat was terrified - she clutched her best friend's hand with such a desperate grip. Although the number of women dying at birth fell drastically over the last decades, it still occurred once in a while, particularly at difficult births.

Cat was not letting Ada die - not now, not today, not while she breathed still.

Suddenly, Esme reached under Ada's bump, gently prodding it like an experienced nurse. "I think it might be the wrong way around." She raised her head, looking at the two women, reassuring them. "I attended three sisters."

Desperate for a solution of any kind, Polly reached over as they tried to steady a shaky Ada on her feet. "Lean her forward, then."

It would be a long night indeed.  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
In their comfortable private snug, the three Shelby brothers toasted in Ada's and her child's health.

Their coats haphazardly thrown over the rack, sleeves rolled up and collars loosened. Most of the bar's patrons had already filtered out once the clock struck midnight, until only three Shelby's, Grace and far too many bottles of whiskey remained. 

Thrice Grace came and went, bringing whiskey and beer when Arthur or John called for another round. Her behaviour was most certainly odd - not that the boys noticed, so deep in their whiskey - as she kept glancing expectantly at Thomas every time she entered.

"You know what, John boy?" Arthur was already slurring his words, tongue tripping over the syllables. He leaned sideways towards John, eyes still centered on Tommy. "I think it's that lovely lady helping our Ada, that pretty little Italian that's made our brother go all soft."

John feigned contemplation, scrunching his brows as if he were an ancient Greek philosopher contemplating the meaning of life. "Huh, you sure it's not the sweet lil' barmaid of ours?"

It had been a long time, far too long since they could properly mock Tommy over anything, and the brothers were having a field day. "Nah Johnny I tell ya, it's a feeling." The duo roared with laughter, clinking their pints and throwing other suggestive comments Tommy's way.

All the while Thomas sat back, observing his brothers with unhidden mirth. 

"You've got a thing for Italian girls, aye Tom?" John jabbed swiftly, then promptly disappeared behind his pint again.

Thomas rolled his eyes before raising his own drink. "I'll drink to that." It provoked another round of laughter from his inebriated brothers. 

He let them joke to their heart's delight, instead letting his restless mind roll over their words.

So quickly did the raven haired beauty worm her way into their lives, unlike anyone before. She was all elegant poise that screamed danger, wrapped up in bloodstains and dark secrets - but Tommy Shelby did always prefer danger.

The amber liquid in his glass did not look so tempting only for the promise of erasing his pains for the night. Under the dimming light of the bar it hauntingly resembled her eyes in a way that made his gut clench uncomfortably. He felt it once, though more faint, and long time ago - before the war chewed him up and spat out what was left of him. 

A bullet shell of a man; cold, heartless, dangerous. 

Unbeknownst to them, a certain blonde haired barmaid pressed her ear against the window separating her and the booth, listening to their every word, a grim frown growing on her face.  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Esme had been right, and once they helped Ada switch her position the labour proceeded as it was supposed to. For the next few minutes they all breathed in unison, whispering words of encouragement to Ada until a cry of life was heard in the room. 

Labours were a messy affair, and some would even argue a dirty one. At least thrice Cat felt her stomach reach her escophagus and by the end of the ordeal she swore never to birth children in her lifetime.

Caterina's once pale blue dress now was now marred with bloody stains and whatever the hell other things were - she hardly paid attention to biology at school. It did not matter.

Nothing else mattered as she observed Ada taking her child in her arms for the first time, tears freely falling out of her eyes - some from pain, some from joy.

"Kat? Will you hold him?" Eyes wide, Caterina shook her head as a_ no._

"I can't - God, I'll drop him."

Ada rolled her eyes, scooping the baby up and holding him towards Cat. "Shut up you wuss."

Like a scared deer she slowly took the baby, all wrapped up in a blanket by Polly, careful to prop his head. "I was thinking, and I want you to be his godmother."

"Ada.." She tried to argue softly. There was no bigger honour Ada could bestow upon her friend, and the only Shelby sister knew very well what it meant to be a godmother to someone in her culture. 

"You're family Kat." The new mother remained persistent in her intent. _Stubborn like a Shelby, _crossed Cat's mind. It should have been made a local proverb. "And I don't know anyone more worthy to be Karl's second mother."

"_Karl_ ? Of course it's Karl." She laughed, looking down at the perfect little bundle in her arms. In that very moment she made a vow to protect that little baby, no matter the cost. "Ciao, _bambino_."

Little Karl squeezes his eyes before opening them for the very first time, revealing dark pools that must have been a Thorne feature. His tiny pink nose twitched in response to the cold breeze filtering into the room. Soft and warm and innocent in this wretched world he arrived to. "_Io sono tua madrina, amore._"

She held him for a minute longer before passing him back to his mother, just as loud footsteps were heard, nearing the room they were in.

"_Ada_!"

Freddie Thorne burst into the room, out of breath and a wild look in his eyes. His eyes fell first on his wife and then the bundle in her arms. He walked past Cat, dropping to his knees in front of his little family. 

"Oh, he's beautiful." Freddie said tearfully, gazing down at his son.

Ada met his eyes with a wide grin, bursting with joy regardless of the exhaustion she felt. "It's a boy, Freddie."

"It's a beautiful baby boy." He voiced back, kissing the top of Ada's head, completely entranced by the sight before him.

A beautiful sight it was, one that warmed her frigid little heart more than any hearth could.

"I'll leave you two, three." Cat smiled, making way to the kitchen to wash the night from her face.

Polly was arms deep in the sink, raising a brow once Caterina entered the kitchen. She watched her as she anxiously chewed her lip, plucking at the basil plant that had turned brown weeks ago. She knew her well enough to know Cat was nervous.

"I should probably go tell the boys good news." Cat stopped poking at the poor basil, peaking at Polly instead. 

"You do that dear." Polly turned back to scrubbing the dirty cloths they used only to call after her after a moment. For two long has the matter bother her mind, and now after deepening her suspicions at John's wedding...

"Cat, wait I need to ask you something." Caterina looked over her shoulder, coat already halfway over her form, expectantly.

"Do you-"

Whatever she was about to ask was cut short by the screeching of tires in the Watery lane.   
Cat and Polly exchanged confused looks.

Blood in her veins turned to ice as she heard them. "Open up! Police!"

"Freddie! Get out of here right now!" Panic laced her voice as she tried to warn the man of imminent danger. Everything happened far too quickly after that.

"You can't come in here, there's a baby just been born." Polly screamed as the officers filtered into their house, slamming the doors as they entered. 

Even Esme launched herself at the policemen, trying to keep them away from Ada and Freddie for as long as possible.

"Oi! Stop it!" Caterina tried to tug back one of the officers marching in the room only to be thrown back into the wall. The impact caused blackness to overcome her sight, throbbing pain blossoming in the back of her head.

"Freddie? Don't hurt him." Ada panicked, clutching Karl closer to her chest if someone even dared to touch him. "Freddie! You are hurting him, leave him alone!"

"You're taking me away from my baby?"

"Ada!" Strangled desperation seeped into his voice as the policemen dragged him out of the house and into the car waiting outside. Kicking and struggling, to no avail he tried to free himself.

"Freddie!"

Once the sound of car engine was lost, Ada dissolved into heaving sobs. Still shell shocked by the ordeal, including a gash on the back of her head where she was thrown into a sharp picture frame corner, Cat reached rushed over and enveloped her best friend in a strong embrace.

Nothing could stop the broken wails of the newly made mother in her arms, desperately clinging to the crying baby against her breast like it was the only thing she had left. On her feet, Polly's hands shook, tempest brewing in her heart. There was only one man that could have been responsible for such thing.

"Stay with Ada and the baby." The flame of righteous rage screamed in Polly's eyes. "I'm going to kill Thomas."

The house door slammed violently behind her and Caterina was not quite sure if she was exaggerating.  
  
  


* * *

  
She makes a point of ignoring Thomas for the several following days.

It would have taken a significant amount of people to restrain her if the man in question even showed himself in her line of sight. 

John had swung by her office once for a pinch of whiskey, shaken by the appearance of his estranged father - Arthur Shelby Senior. Apparently he tried to waltz back in their lives as if he didn't leave them alone and penniless, trying to lure Arthur in his schemes with a promise of money and women and a family put together again. She promised John she would keep an eye on Finn while he was busy in the shop so he didn't end up running into their old man.

Grace was the only reason why she visited The Garrison, though sparingly now, as Tommy apparently appointed her to managing books for his company. It left a bitter taste in her mouth. 

Ada had cooped herself in that dingy flat Cat detested -_ by the Lord_, that mould was so alive it could probably recite Communist Manifesto by heart - unresponsive to both her and Aunt Polly's pleas. 

It was one of such days, when after leaving a fresh basket of bread and fruit in front of Ada's doors, she ventured among the people of Birmingham. 

It was market day, it appeared, as she observed the organized chaos of Bull Ring. Sometimes she wondered what her life would look like it she were born in a simple, normal family - the kind that grew their produce and sold it in the market, that smiled cheerily even as the cold winter's breeze pinched their cheeks and dined together on Sundays.

But how they trembled at the sight of her, lowered their heads and went on with their business, not daring to look into her eyes. 

How guilty she was for loving her self destructive way of life and all it brought. She would not trade her nights spent with a gun underneath her pillow and priceless jewels around her neck for all the safety in the world.

Just as she was about to put the freshly lit cigarette to her lips, someone interrupted her with a sharp cough. 

"A fine day, is it not?"

It was the unmistakable Irish drawl of Inspector Campbell. Weeks past, Thomas had told her about the flimsy deal he struck with the man and the way he question him about the nature of their acquaintance, She did not doubt he placed his spies in her factories and shops, hoping to find an inkling, a clue to where the machine guns were hidden. 

She gestured subtly to the man standing by the hat stall. Pretending he was admiring the products, he kept glancing to where Cat was approached by the Inspector. Eyes alert, he was already reaching for the weapon in the inside of his coat when she gently raised her hand, signalling for him to stand down.

"I warned you months ago, Miss Cardinale, not to meddle with the Peaky Blinders. And then you were seen in their sinful den, by the side of a known and wanted communist." He tutted, shaking his head in mockery. 

Ignoring the smug look in his face she asked him the question that had been burning on her tongue for days. "How did you know Freddie would be there?"

"A little finch sang in my ear. Sang all about that scum of the Earth and his little Shelby wife." _That must mean Tommy really didn't have anything to do with this._. Oh the heart of Thomas Shelby, she thought, he truly wanted to do a good thing for once.

Caterina felt ire rise in her. She stepped closer to the man. "You touch her or the baby and I'll rain hellfire on you." Retreating into her former position, she reapplied the cigarette to her lips. "You might be an inspector but no one is untouchable."

"Fierce threats for someone protected by their father's name."_ Says a man protected by his position of power. _

"I wonder what did you do, when you failed to serve your country. Say, do you feel the weight of the souls of our fallen kinsmen, when you lie in bed at night?" She enjoyed the way the Inspector's face lit like a tomato every time she brought up his cowardice. Her brother did not die for men like him.

"It would not bode you well to make an enemy out of me. Does your father knew you've been making deals with Billy Kimber?" Campbell shoot back.

"It's time for a new generation to take over, don't you think, Inspector? _Natural selection._" She accentuated every letter in the words. It was only a matter of time before she properly took her place in the company, either peacefully or by force. The men would back her up, they would - she was her mother's daughter. 

"You've acquainted yourself quite intimately with Thomas Shelby, I don't doubt you know where our matter of interest lies." 

"And if I did know? I'll rather eat shit than tell something to a copper. Or worse, an Irishman." Chester Campbell cringed inwardly. _Is this what my dear Grace is surrounded by every day, foul-mouthed heathens and harlots?_

Campbell sneered at her, mustache bristling and threatening. "You are not as clever as you'd like to think, Caterina." 

"That's _Miss Cardinale_ to you." She smiled sharply.

Throwing the butt of her cigarette down and squishing it with her heel, Campbell was left glaring at her retreating back, silently swearing he would bring her and her wretched empire to dust.

Still seething from the run in with the Inspector, she slammed the door to her home more violently than usual. Breathing deep, she shrugged down the coat by the entrance, already dreaming of a nice glass of gin to help her finish her paperwork. 

That was, until she noticed something was off. There were muddy tracks on the carpet, one pair and freshly stained, that lead right, deeper into the house. 

Icy shudder ran over her back - a silhouette moved across the sitting room. Underneath her suit jacked, guns in the leather harness slung over her back tapped comfortingly against her ribs. Eyes wide open and alert, she already reached for one as she slowly kicked the door open.

There by the fireplace, his arms crossed and expression unreadable, stood her brother.   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations from Italian :  
Io sono la tua madrina, amore. - I'm your godmother, love.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! What do you think about the appearance of Caterina's brother?


	12. X | BROTHER, DEAREST

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we finally, properly meet Francesco Cardinale

**X | BROTHER, DEAREST**

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌, usually familiar and inviting, now only brought shivers across her spine. The pristine greyness of Francisco Cardinale's tailored suit clashed with a dark frown etched on his pallid face.

In the simpler times it was always Francis that attracted the longing sighs of her ditzy friends, with his perfectly slicked back jet-black hair and a million pound smirk, and those perfectly polished manners that made them faint with a simple _Ciao_. A handsome smile hid a blood soaked record and a promise of a prolific future for _la familia._

Such a long time ago, it threatened to escape her memory.

Every man that came back from France was different. And Francis... whatever there was of him died over the channel, in the cold trenches of the Somme.

The boyish youth was long gone and forgotten, replaced by a thin, lanky man, prominent dark shadows underneath his eyes. As she took in his sour appearance today, Cat thought he looked even worse than the last time she saw him.

Caterina took a tentative step into the room, closing the doors behind her. By the look on her brother's face she was aware things might turn ugly soon enough.

They were never particularly close to start with, and due to the small age gap between them were continuously at each other's throats, their older brother acting like a pacificator on more than one occasion.

"Francis. You're home."

He preferred the simple, English version of his full name. It was more modern, he always said, and easier to remember. Francis was a strong, ambitious Englishman. Francesco was an Italian immigrant, condemned to be looked down upon, unable to rise up in the high society he strived towards.

"Billy fucking Kimber came round. Asking for my little sister." There was a piece of paper in his hand and he waved it pointedly in the air. "With this."

In a flurry of motion, she snatched the thick piece of paper, eyes excitedly running over the words. Cardinale Import Company stood bellow, with the title of the _official liquor distributor, _all very officially signed by the president of the_ West Midlands Council._

"We have our liquor license!" She said, glancing up at him expectantly. The purse of his lips revealed his annoyance. "Oh don't look at me like that."

Francis uncrossed his arms, now pacing the length of the room. _Was it possible his cheeks had become more gaunt while he was away?_ He kept shaking his head and throwing glares in her direction.

"And what did you do for a license, huh? Did you fuck him?" Her mouth fell open in indignation. How dare he even assume-

"_No_! _Vaffanculo_!"

He ran his hand through his shiny black hair, messing it in the process. "Did _padre_ give you permission to do this? Or is this one of your independent escapades?"

"Francis, this is for _us_. The company. With this expansion we can start mapping out a brighter future than killing people for money." She tried to keep the smile on her face, desperate to convince him to see the reality of their situation.

"Legal activities, that's what we need."

"Oh you want to feed the orphans now is that it?" He let out a short bark of laughter, crossing his arms. "This game you're playing will end all of us together. And you'll end this business with the Peaky Blinders, we don't mess with gypsy scum."

That was enough for Caterina to burst with annoyance. "Who are you to tell me what to do? I'm old enough to have friends and I'm competent enough to make deals for the company."

"I'm your fucking brother, or did you forget that, _puttana_."

"For the greater good, Francis. You wouldn't understand." He scoffed, rolling his dark eyes.

"No more smuggling! No more police breathing down our necks, the threat of prison or gallows! Just legal money we can invest in legal business." She counted. "Or are you too much of a _inutile coglione_ to defy father's orders?"

He turned sharply, advancing slowly, forcing her back step by step until her back was pressed up against the cold wall.

Once again her tongue was quicker than her brains. A wild look gleamed in his eyes, and her head cracked against the wall, sending flashes of searing pain through the back of her skull. His strong fingers clutched her shoulders in a painful grip.

"What did you call me, huh?" Francis's words came out in a growl.

"You smell of booze." Her nose scrunched up, stomach turning in nausea as his breath fanned her face. "Since when do you drink?"

Her frenetical straining against his grip made him press his hands harder against her arms. Purple bruises would blossom there, violets after rain. "Since the nights got longer."

She desperately tried to escape his firm clutch, squirming like a cornered deer. "Get off me, you're drunk. Get off. _Get off Francis_." She despised the weakness in her voice, despised Francis for not seeing reason, despised father for being so damnably stubborn.

"No more meddling in business till father gets home." With one last push he let her go, causing her to quickly scramble to collect herself before hurrying out of the room. Drumming heartbeat pounded in her ears. And yet she could not help herself; she turned and levelled her brother with one last glare.

"And what then huh? He takes all our credit while we get our hands bloody." She said steadily, quiet determination seeping into her voice. "Not for long, Franco, I swear."

*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*

A squeal of delight made Caterina jump out of her comfortable nap, stretched out over some half-finished price list. She had not, by any means, intended to fall asleep but the documents were so delightfully boring it would have been a sin to waste such an opportunity.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes she descended down the stairs, careful not to trip down them in the proces.

Three figures stood at the bottom - well, two women and a stroller sandwiched between them. Maria peered closely inside, gently patting the baby's little hand with her pink, plump fingers.

"_A che bello bambino signora Shelby!_" Ada smiled awkwardly, not even correcting the jovial woman buzzing around her baby.

Blinking her eyes a couple of times, in case she was still dreaming, Cat descended the last few steps. "Ada? What are you two doing here?"

The Shelby girl - she would always be a Shelby no matter how hard she tried - appeared as bleak as the Birmingham evening she came from, and understandably so; who could rest not knowing the fate of her husband, whether he was alive or not, a looming threat of

"I feel useless and there's so much staring at the bloody walls I can do. My pride couldn't face Polly today so I came here."

"Right and you're pride is okay with me?" Caterina jested, leaning down to bop Karl's nose, the baby letting out a loud babble. Ada shifted on her feet worriedly.

"Are you sure nobody will rat me out? I covered us up pretty good but with this inspector making threats..."

"Don't you worry, you're safe here. You can help me sort out the company paperwork now then, Maria will put Karl to sleep. Maria, _due tazze di tè per favore, nello studio._"

"_Si, signorina_." The perky old woman pushed the stroller containing her godchild down the hall, happily babbling along with him.

Caterina tugged her friend along, although Ada knew the layout of the house like the back of her hand.

The latter snuggled into one of the inviting leather armchairs she came to prefer over time while Cat sat across, behind the desk littered with far too many items for it to be a productive environment. She liked to observe those little details that told her more of Caterina than the woman herself; though she radiated in a friendly and chattering demeanour, in truth it took her years to crack through the shell of her crippling insecurities and inability to express emotions.

Besides an overflowing amount of papers, some peaking out of brown folders and others simply scattered around, there was an antique inkwell propped on a stack of miscellaneous books; Machiavelli, a used copy of _Wuthering Heights_ haphazardly open, a tea stain marking the page, a yellowed and used _Dictionario Italiano._

Maria brought in a tray of tea and warm lemon biscuits while Cat pushed various nick knack back into the cupboards, trying to make the room at least a bit more presentable. For all her immaculate organization she failed to keep her own rooms uncluttered.

"Now we can talk; I had an unpleasant run in with Campbell."

"And? Did he gloat about putting my Freddie behind the bars?" Ada sneered while popping the third little sugar cube into her tea.

"Obviously but Ada, I don't think it was Tommy who ratted him out."

"And who else could it be Cat? He's the only one who knew and he's the one holding a big fuckin' grudge over us! Just another proof he's a right selfish bastard ever since he came home."

"Campbell said a bloody bird whispered the location in his ear - that's a double meaning right there. And as far as I'm concerned, Tommy's got nothing to do with no birds." She argued in his favour.

"We probably have a spy somewhere, is what I was afraid of."

Dismissing the ridiculous notion, her people lived under _omerta_ \- there were no traitors among hers. "I just have a bad feeling, is all." She waved her paranoia off.

"You sound like Pol. She's got that sixth sense for danger, like a proper Gipsy seer." Ada made a swirling motion in a _cooko_ way with her teaspoon, earning her a sugar cube between her eyes.

"Ugh, can she please see into my future and tell me if I die of this bloody paperwork or in a ditch somewhere? I prefer the ditch."

"Hire a bloody assistant." Ada mumbled from behind her cup of tea.

"Too much fuckin' trouble." And it was hard to find a loyal employee these days - someone of preferably Italian descent, with a knowledge of their code of honour, and willing to die before betraying her. She fished out a wad of unopened letters. "Look over these."

"Cheap workforce, of course." She complained but still set the cup down before taking them.

Several comfortably silent minutes passed between them, only scratching of pen against the paper heard, before Ada pipped up. "What's in Liverpool?"

"Storage for gin before we ship it to America. They're fuckin' crazy about it and pretty damn desperate for any kind of booze these days." A cheeky smile grew on her lips. "Which means they pay _pretty well._"

"A letter of complaint from the Cardinale's Birmingham First Gin Distillery workers envoy about the minimum wages... blah blah blah." Ada trailed off, eyes raking over the words. "And they're threatening you with a strike."

"What ever shall I do?" Cat deadpanned, hardly concerned over it. They depended on her, her pay checks and good will - no sane man would risk those things in times such as these.

"Well, maybe if you increased their pay they wouldn't riot."

Caterina made a face. "Oh dear, that's awfully communist of you."

Ada's laugh was like liquid silver to her ears, reverberating through the room, and it warmed her heart; her friend hadn't even smiled ever since the unfortunate evening.

"More socialist, if anything." Another sugar cube found its way towards Ada, this time hitting her hair. She accepted it with a self satisfied smirk, returning to the remaining letters in her lap.

*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*

The numbers did not add up.

Crossing the bill for the third time that night, Caterina reviewed the revenue of the gin sales. It could have been the late hour or the excess of that fourth glass of gin she sneaked when Ada wasn't looking, but she could swear she did not write those numbers in the ledger.

To an untrained eye they would look completely the same, but she never looped her A's or dotted so thickly. Unfamiliar sums of money seemed to magically pop up here or there; a 200£ last month, then 350£, a 150£ only last week, the name of the client lacking on the margin.

If it had been a smaller amount she'd ignore it, but the company earned around 3000£ a week and such influxes were not regular.

Her brain hurt from all the counting.

There was a fresh packet of cigarettes on her desk, within arms lenght, but she refrained from reaching out for them. For all her upbringing as a Shelby, Ada didn't particularily favour the nicotine filled sticks in the same fervour as her brothers or Polly.

Instead, she necked one more glass of gin - a little one, no harm done with it, she reasoned - to ease her mind for the night.

She ran a hand over her face, at that point not caring about smudging her makeup in the process. "I'll dream about these bottles and pounds I tell you. There's something very wrong here but it can wait until tomorrow."

Ada stood up, stretching out her sore legs. "It's getting late, we should go." Caterina was quick to her feet to stop her.

"Please Ada, I insist. It's too late for you to go out." She seemed conflicted for a moment before her expression softened and relaxed. It was dangerous to walk the streets of Small Heath during the day, let alone at nighttime.

"I don't want you to be alone."

An hour later, after putting Karl to sleep in the room next door, under the soft covers of Cat's king sized bed, Ada wrapped her arms around her best friend, her second sister as if her life depended on it.

"I miss him Cat. What if I never see him again?" She could feel Ada's hot tears soaking into the soft fabric of her nightgown. She squeezed her tighter, burying her face into her dark locks.

"We'll get him back Ada, I promise you." Cat murmured, almost inaudibly. After days of restless nights, Ada's breathing slowed down before it turned into soft snores. There was peace, for the night.   
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  



	13. XI | A GIRL AND A GUN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which she stains her hands for him, and it's worth it

**XI | A GIRL AND A GUN**

" 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 once in a while. Makes me feel useful." Caterina's hands disappeared in the sink overflowing with soap bubbles only to reemerge moments later with glasses in each.

"Spoken like proper royalty." Grace accepted them with a grin, rinsing them off and placing them on a piece of cloth to dry. The two of them had been clearing up The Garrison for the last hour, using the end of Grace's shift as a welcome girls time they hadn't had for quite some time.

"Is it just cleaning glasses that makes you go all giddy on the inside or do you occasionally plow your garden?"

"Well, I did try to bake once, mind you. Successfully burned the curtains and now I'm evicted from my own kitchen."

Organising a criminal operation across the continent? Not a problem for the youngest Cardinale. But baking something as simple as a bread pudding? The curtains were doomed from the start.

"You're a lost cause. What do you eat then?"

Cat shrugged, thinking back to her good old Maria who served as a cook and a housekeeper for the last two decades. "I pay people to do that for me."

Both giggled when Grace swatted at her with a hand full of soap bubbles, littering their blouses with tiny water stains.

A knock sounded at the pub door making them instantly cease their chatter. The two exchanged a look before Grace rushed to open them. Thomas Shelby pushed into the deserted pub, completely ignoring the two women, out of breath and disarranged. 

"Leave that open."

"What's going on?" Thomas snapped his head in the direction of the voice, finally noticing her form.

Dark tresses pulled behind and sleeves of her red blouse rolled up to her elbows, Caterina peaked at him worriedly from behind the bar. It was the first time she spoke to him since the day of John's wedding and Ada's birth.

"Are you expecting trouble?" A confused Grace furrowed her brow; he had declined an offer of a drink, which could only mean something potentially dangerous could be amiss.

"Yeah."

Caterina wiped the water from hands off, making way to where Tommy was rearranging the table in the middle of the room, three chairs around it. "At this hour?"

With a nod of his head, he pulled out his gun, checking the bullet count. "Midnight is as good an hour as any, love."

"How dangerous Tommy?" Her voice turned serious, pressing for truth.

"When the St.Andrew's bell strikes midnight, two IRA men are going to come through that door," he pointed. "When they have what they want, they plan to kill me."

A beat of silence passed between them before Caterina turned to the Irishwoman looking mildly shaken behind the bar. "Grace go home."

Grace turned ashen grey. Did Inspector know about the meeting? If Thomas Shelby died tonight, and the location of guns remained unknown, her mission would be for naught. "I can't just leave you here, what if-"

"Grace, you don't deserve this kind of life. Go home and I'll lock it up," with a purse of her lips she nodded, promptly disappearing through the backdoor of the pub.

Caterina busied herself taking out a fresh bottle of whiskey and three glasses, acting as if she couldn't feel Tommy's eyes burning into her back as she moved around the bar. "Did you know I was going to be here? Or were you ready for Grace to watch your back?"

There was an inkling of malice lacing her voice and Tommy accepted it willingly.

"I hoped, " He confessed softly. Unnoticed, she tensed slightly and continued wiping down the table between them.

"They want to meet here alone."

"And pretty girls don't count?" She raised an eyebrow in question.

"Nope, no they don't. You have a gun?" Caterina nodded affirmatively.

"Know how to use it?"

With a quick motion she unlatched the revolver from the harness underneath her jacket, pointing it straight at Tommy's head. "You want me to use it on you?"

He circled around the table, coming behind her and set one of his hands over one of hers grasping the weapon, steadying it in her hand and pointing it to where the Irishmen would be sitting soon enough.

Taking in the rosy smell of her hair that invaded his senses, Tommy prayed to whoever listened not to make this night his last. 

"When I make a toast, come out of the door and aim it at one of them. Don't shoot, just point. I'll do the rest," he murmured against her ear, his other hand resting on her waist. The woman nodded, her teeth sinking in the soft flesh of her lower lip as she tried not to feel his hand fit comfortably in the dip of her narrow waist.

St. Andrew's signalled midnight and the spell was broken. The two sprung apart as if burned by sudden proximity, averting their eyes and taking their positions.

"Go hide behind those doors."

_ Be careful_, a warning died on her lips as she scrambled for the larder doors just as the clock struck once more.

There was a sound of doors opening and closing, the creaking of the rotten old floorboards underneath the men's shoes. With every clink her stomach rose to her throat and she clutched the gun in her hand tighter.

Through the crack between the doors and the wall she could make out the back of Tommy's chair and the heads of the two IRA operatives opposite of him.

She had to press her ear closely against the doors, and only then she could hear fragments of their conversation.

_ "Give me the cash."_

_ "You're gonna need a shovel."_

_ Rustling of paper — money — followed by a hollow laugh coming from one of the Irishmen. _

_ "You thick fucking thinker. Did you really think we'd let you live?"_

_ "Make your peace Mr Shelby."_

Tommy's voice rose clear in a toast. "To beautiful women, may they be our downfalls."

On cue, Cat pushed open the door and walked out, gun raised towards one of the men. Hand steady from years of experience, she aimed straight towards his head.

There was a familiar look on one of the IRA's men face, one of panic and resolve, and Cat knew there was only one way the things could go in that moment. It would be either the Irishmen or the two of them, and Cat did not intend to die tonight.

It came to her instinctively, almost morbidly natural.

_ "Man up girl and pull the trigger." Please, no, not again. A memory she kept burying flashed in front of her eyes. _

Metal burned in her hand, the impact of the shot making her stagger back on unsteady feet. _Bang_! The first shot caught him in the shoulder.

_ Bang_!

Irishman's body crumpled to the floor, blackened hole in between his brows and a blossoming pool of red trickling out of the back of his head.

Her hands were shaking — they shouldn't be doing that, should they?

Familiar stench of death filled the room and she fought the urge to empty the contents of her stomach on the floorboards. Humans did die most awfully.

Some blood found its way to the wall. Blood on her hands.

Tommy was on the floor being strangled by the other man. She aimed to shoot him too but he noticed her and with a quick motion slammed her face into the bar, effectively splitting her lip. Groaning in pain she crumpled to the floor, blackness overcoming her sight momentarily.

_ "Catia please...." _ _Shut up!_

That was enough time for Tommy to get back to his feet and with all his strength launch himself at the man.

He was not Tommy Shelby, a bookmaker, no. He was Thomas, the trencher, his lungs filled with smoke and stale air, still digging through the darkness. Dark and hot — _he tasted metal on his tongue again_ — all he saw was red in front of him.

Through squinting eyes Cat could only observe the violently unhinged way Thomas slammed into Byrne.

A whiskey bottle found its way to his hand and he swung it, and swung it repeatedly at Byrne's head until the man stopped struggling and stilled underneath him. Even then he continued, furious rage blinding his sight, with every new strike wishing for peace no God was able to give him.

With a sharp intake of air to lungs he stopped, bloodied hands still clutching at the dead man's collar. Like awakening from a hazed dream, he took in the damage inflicted on the man bellow him, only to release a shaky breath. 

Caterina was on his left, crumpled on the floor and clutching the side of her face smeared with fresh blood — and how lovely did that shade of red suit her. 

"Cat? Cat! Why'd you kill him?" She came back to focus only to find herself nose to nose with Tommy, searching for a sign of her consciousness. She let him help her to her feet, strong hands steadying her against the side of the wooden bar.

"Why did you shoot, love? Kate why did you shoot?" He clutched the sides of her head, icy blues of his eyes taking in every feature of her pale face. Searing guilt clawed at his insides — he let her sully her hands for him.

Was he searching for her remorse? He would find none.

"It was him or you, Tommy. I wasn't about to let him kill you." She reassured him, voice barely above whisper. "I wanted to kill him."

"Now you've seen me." He said gently, wiping the trickle of blood coming from her lip. It was only a matter of time before the monster that he truly was awakened, Its thirst for blood enough to scare the man himself. At times like these he felt his sanity slip like grains of sand through his open palms.

"And now you've seen me." His hand cupped her cheek, letting her relax into him. "What a pair of sinners we make."

They danced around each other for far too long, neither wanting to reveal their true form to the other person in fear of rejection.

Tommy reached forward, arms circling around her waist as he pulled her tightly against him. Blood from her lips stained his shirt as she buried her face in his shoulder, tightly squeezing her eyes in an onslaught of a growing headache. The doors of the Garrison opened, two officers walking in on the scene of crime.

"You were supposed to come on the sixth chime. You were supposed to come on the sixth fucking chime!" Thomas spat furiously at the policemen entering the pub, one arm still securely wound around Cat.

"They refused to surrender. They fought well, they were brave men."

Sergeant Moss exchanged a look of bewilderment with his colleague, scoffing at Tommy's words. "One with a clean shot to the head and the other looking like he was ripped by a wild fucking animal, must have been quite a fight there. Still. This never happened. They were never here. Who cares?"

If she hadn't been so exhausted, Caterina swore she would have strangled the spiteful policeman.

"That's how you'll look if I ever get my hands on you, Moss, " She croaked, the officer throwing a dirty look in her direction.

"Get the bodies out of here." Tommy's hoarse demand broke the tension. He sounded far away, shattered in both mind and heart

"All right, are they making the lady uncomfortable?" Caterina did not answer, but felt a twinge of shame seep into her mind. Birmingham trembled under her hand and here she was, shaken after disposing of two men. What kind of gangster did that make her?

"Right. I'll leave you two lovebirds alone." The smirking officer said in a mocking lilt. "A Shelby and a Cardinale, who would have known?"

Once the policemen and the bodies were gone, only stains left in their place, two broken souls remained in the empty pub.

"I'll walk you home."  
  


* * *

  
  
  


A slight detour in their walk took them to the canal. Brisk winter air crawled down her back and seeped into her clothes, an unwelcome acquaintance at any time.

Without a word, Thomas shrugged down his black coat, leaving the bloodstained shirt with a jacket over it. Warmth enveloped her, followed by the unmistakable scent of smoke and expensive cologne that could only be described as _Thomas Shelby._

If he himself was cold he did not intend to show it in the slightest. The two of them walked slowly, deliberately prolonging the minutes spent in each others comforting presence.

Neither of them would catch a wink of sleep that night, it was certain, and walking seemed a healthier alternative to drinking themselves into unconsciousness. 

With an experienced hand he struck the match against its box, bringing the flame up to the cigarette in his mouth and cupping it so the rain doesn't extinguish it. Inhaling the smoke, the cigarette was passed between them as they trudged over the wet cobblestone and mud.

Taking another drag to steady her beating heart, she willed herself to remember it all over again.

"I was seventeen again, a gun in my hand. Roberto considered it an initiation rite." A bitter smile crossed her lips. Her sire did not deserve the title of a father. "First, ritualistic blood on my hands that would make me a proper Cardinale."

"I was seventeen and he put a man in front of me, and a bullet in my gun, and told me to shoot."

A light drizzle started to fall and they took cover in a nearby tunnel, a storage of sorts, its arched entrance providing a dry shelter. They settled near the opening, Cat seating herself on one of the wooden crates while Tommy leaned against the brick wall, their eye's fixed on the droplets kissing the surface of the canal. 

It was the year 1913 and Emilio Stranzi, a lad only two years her senior ran his mouth off at the local pub after one whiskey chaser too many.

One of his drinking partners happened to be an informant of a rival gang, purposely planted in that exact pub, a favourite spot of many of their men, to overhear possibly useful information for his boss. Emilio turned out to be a goldmine.

The boy himself did not participate in the business but he happened to overhear pieces of information when his father discussed work with his other colleagues in his little foreman office down in the factory. That's how the informant dug up the story of a gun shipment disguised in flour bags bound for London, and then Italy.

The train cart with their shipment was robbed the night before it was supposed to be sent off, their guards coldly murdered. But they were gracious enough to leave the name of the traitor after taking their weapons. 

Emilio Stranzi broke the _omertà_. Only one punishment exists for such offence — death.

It was the vivid details she remembered clearly; the way father's sleek golden watch winked threateningly underneath the candlelight, and Mazza's gigantic form forcing the young lad she knew on his knees. Her cheeks had been wet, but she dared not to sob. _Papà_ would strike her for showing weakness in front of the men_._

She drank tea with his sister Angelica many times. His father was a foreman at their distillery, a man of trust. She swallowed another onslaught of tears. "I can't _papà_, please."

"Man up girl and pull the trigger. Or are you both a girl and a disgrace?" Roberto was taller then, and towered over her, one hand painfully squeezing her shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, Alessandro lowered his head in shame. 

"_Catia_ please, _please_, think of my mother-"

Her finger pulled the trigger, the boy slumped against the wall. There was a painting done in blood, splashes of life against the brick.

Satisfied with the work done, Robert left the warehouse, leaving only Caterina and Alessio, Mazza and his henchmen following to dispose of the body.

"I killed a man Alessio. _Ho ucciso un uomo._"

Her brother cradled her closer to his chest, trying to calm her shaking form. Not even her big brother could've protected her from this. Nothing could protect them from the harsh hand of the legacy.

"Shh, _basta, piccola." _Shielding her eyes from the gruesome sight behind them, he led her out.

_ "Andiamo Rina_, don't look."

Blinking back the memory, she spat bitterly at the ground in front of her as if trying to get rid of the harsh taste in her mouth left by it.

"Every time I kill someone I see him, bleeding out against the wall. He's that one stain I can't wash out, no matter how much I drink or smoke or try."

Her first kill switched something deep inside her, caused her to bury all emotion she once possessed beneath a thick layer of unyielding brutality she used to control the vast organisation she could almost call her own.

And yet Thomas though her Aphrodite reborn, there as the silver moonlight spilled over her wet tresses, cloaked by his own coat, a dying cigarette hanging loosely from her fingers. It was a twisted sort of beauty in the firm set of her jaw and glistening rage in her eyes — for all the tears in her eyes only made them shine more brightly.

"Your turn, Shelby."

The rain must have stopped at some point, and absentmindedly they continued their trail.

What was he supposed to tell her?

But there were no words he could describe it with — the way sleep never soundly found him, the overflowing abyss in the back of his mind that threatened to swallow him whole.

The only thing worse than the shovels was the silence. Even back there, while the shovels and pickets sounded from the depths of the wet ground, you knew where to continue digging. But once the damned symphony ceased it was likely your fate was sealed — silence meant a grenade was bound set of somewhere in the depths of the trenches, eager to destroy everything found in its proximity. 

And that's what he told her, voice tired and pained, he poured his tormented heart in her patient ear.

It did not erase his burdens but it made him breath a little lighter. A year after his return from the front, he addressed his nightmares and the lack of the man he used to be. 

"Thank you, Tommy Shelby."

She turned towards him as they reached her doorstep. The walk seemed far too short now that they stood in front of her doors, deep green ones flanked by two finely crafted pillars.

He accepted his coat back, noticing how it retained the soft rosy scent the woman in front if him radiated.

It was a spur of the moment, a simple _thank you_ to the dark haired man. Stretching out on her tip toes, she pressed a brief kiss to his cheek, stunning the imposing gang leader to silence.

Without looking behind her, she was already behind the doors, like a thief in the night, having stolen both a kiss and a piece of his soul.

Tommy Shelby hadn't felt so alive in years.  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy this portion of childhood trauma with a side of unresolved tension before shit hits the fan as we're nearing the end of season 1 - if you think this is a rollercoster oh dear you're so not ready x


	14. XII | A CALM BEFORE THE STORM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which loyalties are at a test

** XII | A CALM BEFORE THE STORM **

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆, as the sun barely touched the peaks of the tallest trees in the park and the dew was yet to dry upon the greenery, Grace Burgess sat patiently, observing the way wind played with the branches barren from the chill.

Her eyes followed a tiny sparrow dancing around the puddle on the ground — how free it looked as it dipped its skeletal talon in the water, bouncing back when the cold waters splashed its beak. How free it was, unburdened by the human frivolities.

Lost in her pondering, she did not hear the heavy footsteps approaching over the crunching gravel before Inspector Campbell called her name.

"You were not involved in the conflict that ensued last night, I was made aware. Dear God, if I had known you would be involved with this ugly business at all, I never would have let it happen." His eyes swept over her figure, looking for any sign of injury til Grace reassured him with a shake of her head.

"No sir, they sent me away before the IRA men arrived. But that does not mean I didn't listen."

His voice held a note of urgency. "Explain, Grace." 

"I hid by the backdoor I slipped out of and managed to retrieve possibly crucial information for our mission," she conferred, noticing the way Campbell's eyes lit up almost predatory.

"Truly?"

"Last night, while I observed the entire ordeal and the savagery that they inflicted upon those men..." She stopped for a moment, taking in a breath of cold air.

"I believe something inside me changed. I no longer feel the need to avenge my father. The hatred that I brought here with me is gone and therefore my reasons for joining the service.."

"You want to resign?"

Grace met his aghast gaze, afraid of saying the wrong thing. "I think our mission has come to a natural end, after all, I believe I know where the guns are hidden."

"Firstly, can I have your guarantee that Caterina Cardinale and Thomas Shelby won't be harmed? Once the guns are found our military mission will be over and we can leave the city as we found it."

The man beside her sighed exasperatedly. "Grace, darling.." Yet she urged her request forward. 

"I want your word as a gentleman that they would not be harmed."

"Two avid sinners, why would you want to save them? You've taken liking to the Italian harlot, Grace, haven't you?" Averting his eyes from her, a sour look crossed the Inspector's face. _Now when he was closer than ever in taking down their wretched empires.._

"Sir, I... A residue of sympathy." She blurted out, lacking the words to describe the perplexing sense insecurity growing in the pit of her stomach.

The Inspector narrowed his brows at her choice of words. "Sympathy? You mean _sentiment_.."

"You are too good-hearted for this work, my dear. Not everyone can be saved." Chester shook his head mournfully. Her hand found his gloved one, grasping it pleadingly.

_ Why was she so torn between her duty and her conscious? Months ago her conscious would've been clean and at peace for betraying the trust of Caterina and Thomas... And now.._

"Perhaps. So for my sake, will you spare them?"

"You have my word," he said it so firmly, so reassuringly, Grace almost believed him.   
  
  


* * *

For three hours they councilled — her, Mazza, and the _caporegimes_ Bastiani and Lardini - over her kitchen table only to come to the same agreement as the week prior; the American job was far too risky for the company, especially now the racing business was kicking off — the final decision would have to wait for Robert to come back from Bath. 

_ I hope he drowns it that bloody spa,_ Caterina gloomed darkly as she stared at the crumbs and empty wine glasses, all that remained behind the councillors. The ledger in front of her did not lighten her mood in the slightest, either. 

The front doors of the Cardinale household were opened and then vigorously slammed shut. Caterina briefly glanced up to take in Francis's disheveled appearance; his usually neat and combed hair was damp and flustered, shirt wrinkled and shoes leaving a trail of sludge on her new carpet. He was either in a pub brawl or a whorehouse, and Cat found herself lacking the need to know.

"We had a briefing an hour ago in this very room. For someone who wants to be more involved in the business you don't seem very interested. Or responsible for that matter." She bit sharply.

"It would've been easier for me to present the plan of action if you were here to support me."

The _caporegimes _grumbled incessantly, eager to find a flaw in her plans for taking Billy Kimber down once for all and establishing her family on the top of the criminal web of Birmingham. With Francisco's presence she could've generated more support, especially from those loyal to her father, the conservative old Sicilians that would rather follow a daft man than an able woman.

"Where've you been, anyway?" She inquired, feigning carelessness, simultaneously subtracting the numbers in her ledger.

"Fuck off, Kat." The older sibling muttered, passing by her chair and shrugging off his trench coat before going towards the staircase. 

His groggy and rigid tone unnerved her; he was obviously drunk to the bone, she noted, by the way he squinted at the oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, and the way his every step collided with the wooden boards — as if the impact wasn't entirely expected, and he wobbled up the stairs grasping the rail with both of his hands. If it weren't as sad as it was, she would've laughed.

"I'm just worrying Francis," hearing that, he stopped his arduous climb and turned in her direction, fixing her with a bleary looking glare. "You'll get yourself killed one day."

Her brother scoffed bitterly, rolling his eyes. It could've been due to the poor lighting the lamps provided, or her eyes were playing games on her mind, but she could swear there were bags of yellowish hue underneath Francis's eyes. 

"Shut it will ya. You sound like bloody moth-"

"Yeah, well, mother is dead, inn' she, so I'm the one worrying if you'll end up dumped in the Cut somewhere."

Perhaps she went too far: she hadn't intended to be so snappish and most certainly did not intend to bring up their late mother, but the events of the past few days left her on edge and anxious, and with little to no rest, constantly turning and twisting until the sheets rumpled and fell off her bed.

As of late she made a ritual out of putting on her dressing gown, opening the doors to her balcony where she'd smoke a pack or two, watching as the rising sun emerged, young and radiant, through the bleak smog of Birmingham.

Out of her two brothers, Francisco had always been the less temperate one — that is, before the War. _(How distinctly she could separate those periods now.)_ There was something unnatural, something inhumane in his eyes that for the first time made Caterina fear her brother.

An unpleasant sneer marred his once handsome features, twisting them hideously. "And who's fault is that, huh?"

A twinge of rage ignited in her chest. "How dare you, _how dare you_ accuse me of being responsible. She died of influenza, like half the bloody Birmingham!"

The knuckles of his hand gripping the railing turned white, the other raised threateningly in her direction. "And who was an annoying little bitch who wanted to help the sick in the hospital? Fuckin' charity and your volunteering cost us a mother!"

_ Lies_, she wanted to scream in his face, if it were not for a tiny voice in her head whispering ; _But what if it is your fault?_

A long time ago she though she could save everyone, that her little acts of kindness would change the world into a better place. She dragged mother and all her friends to charity events and orphanages where they sewed clothes for children and distributed presents at holiday time. 

It seemed almost natural for her to volunteer at the hospital when the influenza broke out in England; she visited the sick and helped the nurses fold the washings and cut up bandages.

Vittorina Cardinale fell with a fever a month after the initial breakout; the sickness swayed her one afternoon and by the next morning she was gone.

Once, a long time ago, she wanted to change the world and she paid a price too dear. Somewhere along those lines God seemed to have abandoned her, too, and the descent to what she had become had been sinfully easy. 

A clash of his bloodshot greens and her own maroon met somewhere in the middle and a tense silence fell between the siblings, a waiting game, to see which one of them would back out first.

Her stomach was boiling and she could feel her chest rapidly rising and falling. Briskly turning away she snatched her coat, not bothering to look at him. If she did, she would have probably stabbed him with the first thing she could find.

"Oi , where're you going!?" He barked forcefully as she opened the front door with one hand and clipped on her heels with the other.

Her answer was left unheard, doors slamming behind her. 

* * *

Not even the fear of God's infernal punishment could stop Chester Campbell from desecrating what was supposed to be the grave of Daniel Owen, and for that he was rewarded with what he sought.

From the moment the worker's shovel hit something solid in the ground, he could barely contain the smile on his face. Not only was he bound to get a medal for such swift work of uncovering the stolen guns, that petty gangster had no leverage over him anymore. 

"All but one gun accounted for." There was a certain gleam in inspector's eyes, one of personal satisfaction beyond all else, and he pulled Grace into a quick embrace. 

Once they separated, she solemnly supplied. "Then, Sir, I resign my commission."

"Good. So, I am no longer your superior officer and you are no longer my subordinate. And therefore.." Chester Campbell fished out a velvet box out of his coat pocket, an elegant ring nestled inside. Grace's heart plummeted into her stomach.

"Regulations permit me to offer you this," before she had time to protest, to at least open her mouth, he continued. "I am but a simple man, but a good man. And my admiration for you has turned to love. I don't ask for love in return. Just recognition that we are like minds with shared values."

"Grace will you marry me?" His eyes bore deeply into hers, expectant of her answer. _And what was she meant to say? _

For years she saw him solely as her mentor, a man of similar goal of vengeance as her own. How could he possibly want her, a woman soiled and a murderess? He did not know her heart could never belong to him, not truly, as long as Thomas Shelby lived.

"Mr Campbell, you deserve better." The blonde's voice came out as a wavering whisper.

"My dear, I could find no better than you."

* * *

It had stopped raining not long ago, and the cobbled streets were filled with shallow ponds of murky rainwater and mud. A stray labourer here and there passed her by, tipping his hat in a salute.

The pavement turned from finely cobbled to cracked stone and coal ash, soot and shit and grime sticking to the soles of her once pale blue heels, before she marched carelessly through the puddles.

Puffs of smoke coming from her cigarette mingled with the one she exhaled into the night. The houses around her seemed awfully familiar and Caterina stopped in her tracks as she realised where she ended up, absentmindedly strolling through the empty streets.

It seemed as fate always drew her back to the Shelby's, like the murderer returning to the scene of crime, she couldn't stay away for too long. 

The Garrison stood there at the end of the lane, and she hoped Grace was there to ease her mind.

The last thing she needed tonight was an encounter with Tommy, not while she was unsound of mind, not while she didn't know how to address the pulsating sensation that seemed to make her utterly breathless every time he was near.

Golden light shined from the insides of the pub, in addition to raised voices. It was then she noticed a police car haphazardly parked in the front, making her pick up her pace.

Pushing inside just as the last two officers were leaving, she took note of the distress clearly etched on every face around her. Some solemnly stared into their pints, others looked at each other in grim silence, and some woman seemed to have fainted out of shock.

"Harry, what's this commotion about?" She called, quick steps taking her to the bar. The bartender was holding onto the pillar in the middle of the room, droplets of sweat glistening over his pale forehead.

He shook his head, accepting a glass of water passed into his hand. "If you're lookin' for Thomas he's not here - those bloody coppers asked me the same thing."

She shook off the confusion mulling inside her. "Right, and where is he?"

"He left with Grace minutes ago, I don't know."

The ground disappeared underneath her feet, and it took immense willpower for her to remain standing still. More than aware of what Harry implied, she cleared her troth uncomfortably. "Right.."

A regretful look on his face, Harry placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. "Catty...I'm sorry." The little Italian lady grew close to his heart in the passing months, and her presence regularly lightened the drab pub. 

"What ever for, dear Harry? Here, drinks on me gentlemen." A gratuitous murmur passed through the room when she slapped several bills down on the bar, far more than needed for a round or two. 

"Good evening gentlemen. Enjoy your drinks." What she intended to be a friendly smile came out as a bitter grimace, not reaching her eyes, before she exited the pub in long, purposeful strides.

Frigid air slapped her burning cheeks and she welcomed it gratefully. It was pouring again, but it hardly mattered as she clawed at the cigarette pack, yearning for a distraction. The match wouldn't burn in the rain, she realised during her fifth try, letting both the match and the cigarette fall limply from her hands.

It hardly matter as the frost bit and poked at the empty feeling inside of her. _Is this what betrayal feels like? _

If she stood in the rain for long enough, she hoped, she might drown in something other than her treacherous mind.

_ But, then again, who am I to mourn something that was never mine?_   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh dear, shit's about to hit the fan
> 
> what do you think, did Grace say yes to Campbell in the end? and what's wrong with Francis? i love reading your theories!


	15. XIII | THE BLACK STAR DAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which a betrayal finally comes to light

** XIII | BLACK STAR DAY **

  
" 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘?" _Caterina stared at Tommy incredulously. "That's the worst bloody name you could've given it. How about, The Reckoning Day?"_

_ "December the third, mark it down on your calendar — that's the day we enter the big shot world."_

_ "Don't know if you heard Shelby, I'm already a big shot." She hid her playful smirk behind a cloud of smoke. _

_ He stared at her from across the table, head cocked to one side as if trying to understand how he found himself in this situation; there was a beautiful woman by his side, a full glass of fine whiskey on the table in front of him, and the smell of freshly lit cigarettes lulled him in a soft daydream. _

_ If he closed his eyes for a moment, he could turn the wheel of time back to when he was truly happy, content with the life he lived. _

_ "Who else knows about it?" Caterina's question snapped him out of his musing. _

_"Just you, me and Grace. I've made her my secretary, now that the work is expanding." _

_ Expansion, a prolific word he used so often these days. Opening his eyes, he glanced over the table. Caterina swayed gently to the music coming from the other side of the pub, dainty lashes fanning her rosy cheeks. _

_ He smiled, unintentionally, mirroring her own. _   
  
  


* * *

"It's gone."

Caterina blinked, lowered herself into the chair behind her and then looked at Mazza again. "Everything?"

"To the last barrel." The enormous man scrunched up his face in distaste, letting out another string of strong Italian curses, making her wince. "I told you Caterina you had no need to meddle with _pezzonovanti_ such as Billy Kimber!"

Nerves churned her gut and for a brief moment she contemplated disappearing into thin air instead of facing the consequences of her own decisions.

"Impossible, no one knew about Liverpool save us in this very room. Damn it, and now of all days..."

What little string held up the plan drawn out for December 3rd seemed to snap in the worst possible time, and it seemed to get worse as the time progressed. 

It was well past nine o'clock and the company office was slowly filling up with men — good men, steeled by war and work, most of them Italian born before they sought their fortune in England.

She observed them while they took their seats around the room, animatedly recounting last week's football game, or a boxing match. They leaned on the doors, smoking and laughing and cursing, their pockets full of ammunition, guns slung over their shoulders and pistols resting by their ribs.

Some were bakers, some owned shops and market stalls, they were butchers and tailors but they all shared one virtue that mattered; they were willing to put down their lives for her cause.

When the clock struck nine thirty she stood up and cleared her throat, effectively silencing them.

"This morning our warehouse in Liverpool was ransacked by the police, arresting everyone they found on site, taking all we held there, and returning the warehouse to the previous owner, Billy Kimber."

Trying to be heard over the murmurs of discontent that spread over the room, Caterina raised her voice, continuing her speech.

"We lost more than one hundred barrels of fine gin that was supposed to ship to America by the end of the month, worth thousands of pounds, right in the hands of a man that can't even count his wealth. We were unjustly robbed — they took _your_ wages, _your_ future and the future of _your_ children." She poured the boiling rage that cooked in her bosom into her words, taking a moment to look into eyes of every man in front of her.

"For far too long we have stood in the shadow of tyrants such as him, rich men, gamblers, who know nothing of the life of a working man. Today we change that."

"You'll be joining the Lee's and the Peaky Blinders to the Worcester races. There, you'll evict every single bartender, every liquor distributor on sight. Burn their licenses, confiscate their booze, use force if needed. Among yourselves speak_ la nostra lingua_, let them know who we are." The firm set of her jaw was enough to convince the men to obey her orders. Bald heads, cap clad heads, heads with slicked back hairs, they all nodded in unison.

"Make them fear us. And tell them Caterina Cardinale now owns the business."  
  
  


* * *

Down in the Small Heath, Tommy Shelby held a very similar family meeting. He coughed sharply, raising one hand to call for silence.

"I've brought you all here today because today's the day we replace Billy Kimber. This is the day we become respectable. The day we join the official National Association of Race Course Bookmakers. But first we do the dirty work."

There was a degree of pride in his voice, in spite of everything that was yet to happen.

"We've all known its been coming, I just haven't told anyone the date. We're going to the Worcester races. The track opens at one, we get there at two. Now, Kimber thinks we're going there to help him fight the Lee brothers. But thanks to the efforts of our John and his lovely new wife Esme, the Lees are our kin. I interrupted those efforts this morning and, er, I can assure you all, John is making _great sacrifices _in the name of peace."

Laughter spread over the family members as Tommy revealed the nature of John and Esme's morning liaisons. John blushed a deep red, mumbling in embarrassment. "Yeah, all right."

Chuckling, Thomas continued. "The Lee's will be joined by our allies, the Clarke family who will be taking over the alcohol distribution points. I've been assured by the head of the family they'll be on our assistance if needed."

"What about Kimber himself?" John piped up.

"I'll deal with Kimber." Tommy assured him, looking around the room. "Any questions?"

It was Polly that spoke up. "Yes."

"Does anyone object if I bring a newcomer to the meeting?" Polly asked as she walked to the door that separated the shop and the house.

Confusion turned into surprise once Ada appeared at the door, cradling a sleeping Karl in her arms. Booming applause rounded the room, John and Arthur being the loudest among them.

Even Tommy smiled. "Welcome home, Ada."

"We named him Karl," Ada looked around sheepishly. "After Karl Marx."

Arthur hollered at that, coming closer to take a peak at his sleeping nephew. "Karl bloody Marx. Let me get a look at him."

He placed his peaked hat on Karl's little head, taking him from Ada's arms and holding him up carefully. "Hey, look he looks just like me."

John was quick to jab back at him. "That's his arse that looks like you, Arthur."

The oldest brother grinned, cradling Karl closer to him. "He's alright," he gave a reassuring nod to Ada. "He's a Shelby."

A gust of emotion flew over her, and Ada felt like she was going to cry.

"Well, Ada," Tommy started. "Am I forgiven?"

The petite woman bit her lip, searching his face for some kind of falsehood. "Cat told me, about Freddie. If what she says is true then you are."

"It's true." Those words were enough for his sister to throw her her hands around his neck, hugging him tightly. She burrowed her nose in the lapel of his suit jacket, murmuring a soft _thank_ _you_.

"Then there's only one person more missing," Ada gave her brother one pointed look, not missing the way he averted his gaze to the floor before following the others out of the room.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


"Kimber employed Changretta's men for protection. We can't risk a war between our families." _Caporegime_ Arnoldo Bastiani piped up from his position on one of the leather chairs on the other side of Caterina's desk. Others filtered out of the room, leaving only the higher ups to discuss the details of the _battle plan. _

Caterina nodded in agreement, aware of the precariousness of the situation. "No, we can't. Do not harm any of their men if you come across them, or at least don't make the first move. If they pursue action, harm enough to demobilise, not kill."

"And what about Kimber?" Asked Mazza.

She plucked a cigarette from the pack in one of the overflowing drawers of her desk. "I'll deal with Kimber."

He was not convinced at all, and it showed in the unimpressed look on his face.

"I _have_ a plan." Caterina assured him, desperately trying to sound confident. 

"That's what worries me the most."  
  


* * *

After seeing the three dozen men bound for Worcester off, Caterina made her way to The Garrison with the ones that remained — a few boys and older veterans — there mostly for her protection.

She let them fraternise, bond and bicker over pints with Shelby men while she, without a word, seated herself on one of the tables in the middle of the room, keeping an eye on them.

More men filtered into the pub, the Blinders, followed by the three Shelby brothers in their best attire.

"All right lads, listen up. You have a pint and a chaser, no more. On the house." Tommy called, already rolling up his sleeves to help Grace pour the drinks for the men.

A look of quiet intensity passed between two friends. Grace was first to avert her eyes, letting the curtain of her blonde tresses cover the budding blush of embarrassment painting her cheeks. Returning to the glasses in front of her, she clutched the cloth in her hand just a bit firmer.

Grace knew Caterina knew, and the silence was enough to eat her alive.

On the other end of the bar, Arthur struggled with passing round pints of beer to the waiting men. 

"Here, Arthur, let me help you."

The oldest Shelby brother threw her a wink, stepping aside to let her pass behind the bar. He threw one of his long, lanky arms around her shoulders, making her lough aloud when he tousled her hair playfully. 

"There's my little lady. Lookin' grim for such a splendid day."

"Someone has to be worrying for you rascals," Caterina grinned, swiping the spilled drink with a cloth. Arthur replied with a laugh, though it seemed hollower now.

"Arthur. Are you really okay?" A tense smile played on his lips, but it did not quite reach his eyes.

"I trust Tommy. I trust his plan. He's always been the cleverer one." The utmost faith in his voice startled her, though she knew it shouldn't have. If there was one thing she knew for certain about the Shelby brothers, it was the fact that John and Arthur had more faith in Thomas than the God above.

A black preacher she came to know as Jeremiah Jesus threw open the door of the Garrison, pushing another man inside. His face showed concern as they entered, Jeremiah searching for Thomas among the milling crowd.

"Right tell him what you just told me." Jeremiah poked the man at his side, gesturing in Tommy's direction.

"Just heard two vans driving up the Stratford road. An old corporal of mine said he recognised some of the men. He said its Kimber boss and they're heading this way."

Silence. Shock. Then uproar.

Thomas met her eyes from other side of the counter, equally thrown off with that single piece of information. The string was broken, and they were truly, _most definitely_, fucked.

"We've been fuckin' betrayed."

From his place by the bar, Thomas immediately bolted to the door. For a moment Caterina was left speechless, unable to form a coherent track of thoughts, the only person who could shed some light on the reversal of the situation having gone through the pub door. Weighing her options, she ran out, following after Thomas.

He rushed into Watery Lane, bursting into number 4, with Caterina hot on his heels.

Ada was dozing off in the sitting room, little Karl snuggled by her breast. Thomas, ever so tactfully, shook her awake. "Ada, wake up." His sister blinked up blearily, eyes darting between Tommy looming over her and Caterina by the door.

Caterina rolled her eyes at him, instead helping Ada stand up and put Karl into his trolley. "Ada, go to Bull's Ring, where there's lots of people. We've been betrayed."

Thomas nodded, running a hand through his short hair, pulling at it out of stress. "Someone let slip."

"Kimber's men are on their way here. It's just us, all the Lees are on their way to Worcester. We're outnumbered." He paced the length of the room.

"_Fuck_!"

Polly appeared in the doorway, lips tightly in a line. "Who else knew that today was the day you were moving on Kimber? You said you kept it a secret. Who else did you tell?"

"I knew, but you know very well it wasn't me." Caterina's eyes snapped to Thomas who nodded in agreement.

"I also told-" A dawning realisation passed over his features, like a bucket of icy water, freezing the blood in his veins. It was difficult to even utter her name now.

"_Grace_."

"There's only one thing that can blind a man like you Tommy." Polly's expression bordered with pity. "A pretty face."

A string of Romani curses escaped his lips, followed by a groan of exasperation. "Fuck, Pol."

"No, no Polly - no she-" words failed Caterina, but the cogs of her brain presented her with the series of _coincidences_ that occurred in the last months.

Everything fit perfectly — an Irish inspector arrives in Birmingham, on the king's order, only for a mysterious Irish barmaid to come knocking for a job in pub that served none other than the Peaky Blinders. How _coincidental_, she befriended her in an instant, slowly unraveling the information she needed to destroy her.

Dozens of fragments of conversations invaded her mind, memories, mindless chatter, all revealed at once — every playing card suddenly turned and placed on the table.

_"What's in Liverpool?" _

_"A warehouse, just business." _

_"I made Grace my secretary-" _

_ "And who are the Peaky Blinders? Why are they so infamous?" _

_ "And where do you keep them?"_

_"I can help you with the books, if you want."_   
  


"I'll deal with Grace. If any of you set your eyes on her again you might kill her." Polly concluded gravely, aware of the impulsiveness of both Tommy and Cat.

"Fuck, I should've known."

There was stinging in her eyes, traitorous tears accumulating in the corners. The room spun threateningly though she remained fixed to the same spot.

_ But it couldn't have been Grace!_ Her mind screamed in protest. _Not Grace, no — it had to be someone else, someone-Grace would never!_

_ She's my friend._

She let her inside her home, her heart, her life because she seemed _good_, and for once she hoped she deserved some of that good in her life.

_ She was my friend... Was she?_

Betrayal was an icy cold knife, twisting and turning its way into her heart, turning what started off as surprise, denial and pain into something vicious, a painful rage she hadn't felt in years. 

_ Thomas raged, one hand gripping his dark hair in frustration_

Caterina still stood, unmoving like a statue with her hands gripping the back of a chair. "Did you sleep with her?"

The lack of expression threw Thomas off guard. "I did."

"Didn't expect any less." She snapped spitefully. "Men tend to prioritise their cock over their brains."

"Cat-"

Caterina snapped her head in his direction, and he could finally see the blazing anger illuminating her eyes.

"I trusted your judgement. I put the lives of my men in your hands, Thomas Shelby!" She was close enough he could feel the perfume she emanated, sweet scent of roses mingling with smoke.

"Stay with Ada and the baby. I'll end this." He stared down at her, trying to patch up the mess he made, only to inflame her once again.

"What? _I will not! _You've done enough already."

"I didn't say it was arguable." He tried to rest a hand on her shoulder only for her to shrug it off in annoyance.

"You expect me to sit quietly while you and John and Arthur risk your lives? Load of bullshit if you ask me," her lip split at some point, from all the anxious pricking it endured — a nervous tick she developed in childhood and couldn't get rid of now.

"Kimber's got Italians, Changretta's men with him. I know most of them personally, they might have a change of heart when they see me."

"They might kill you on the spot," he tried to reason, futilely. Little could dissuade a woman scorned, and Caterina Cardinale was by all means that.

"A risk I'm willing to take, Shelby."   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading - hope you enjoy!


	16. XIV | A SNAKE IN THE GRASS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which they face the real enemy

**XIV | A SNAKE IN THE GRASS**

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐘, save Grace Burgess collecting her things in a frenetic haze.

Fumbling with the buttons of her purple jacket, she did not notice a figure entering from the back entrance before the sound of a chair moving over the floor made her freeze. There was someone else in the room with her, and she slowly turned around.

It was Polly Gray, sitting in the corner of the room, staring right back at her.

"Going for good?"

"I heard there's trouble." The other woman fidgeted with the strap of her purse, readjusting it on her shoulder.

"Funny thing, instinct. See, I can normally tell about the person, but with you-" The barmaid interrupted her brazenly, losing the facade of poise she had moments ago.

"Look, the fighting's about to begin. We should get out of here."

"We know who you are." Polly said bluntly, making her freeze where she stood.

"I know. Caterina knows. Tommy knows about your dirty little secret. Turned out that copper as good as told him this morning." Polly reached back, extracting a long hair needle from her bun, its silvery glint winking dangerously in the dim-lit room. "But I wanted to hear it from your own lips."

The Irishwoman raised her gun defiantly in the direction of the Gray matriarch. "I am an agent of the Crown. I have the power to arrest and the right to use force. So, please, step out of my way."

"Like I say, instinct's a funny thing." Polly cocked her head on the side, mocking her. "You fell for Tommy for real, didn't you?"

"This gun is loaded. I am not afraid of you," her trembling voice betrayed her.

All the while Polly remained sitting calmly. "I feel sorry for you. Slip of a thing."

"Thought you'd come in here and stitch us all up. I mean, we've had some copper's narks in here, but you? You're the queen of them all. So, who are you?" Polly's eyes scanned the girl's appearance.

"Rich girl, I'd guess. Unionist. Ulster Volunteer. You thought Fenians, communists, low people they're all the same." She listed, spitting each word like a dagger. "Scum. Then you met Tommy."

Grace placed the gun on the counter, firmly striding towards Polly, rolling up her sleeves as if she was ready to fight. "I'll fight you with my fists and show you how a rich girl fights. I'm from a tough family, too."

"Nah." The older woman waved her feeble attempt of courage off, placing her pin back into her hair. "We women have more sense. Why don't you pour us both a drink?"

Polly took a seat by the bar, Grace procuring a set of glasses and a bottle of whiskey soon after. The Gray woman watched Grace's movements while lighting one of her fine cigarettes. "So, am I right? Did you fall for Tommy?"

"Yes," came Grace's quiet confirmation once she took her seat.

"Then I pity you."

"I think he'll try to kill me." Grace confessed her fear, looking at Polly over her glass of whiskey.

With a shake of her head, she denied it. "He's too soft."

"Soft?"

"Soft. Like you. He's not the one you should worry about." Grace knew who she was referring to and it only brought chills across her spine.

"You saved his life the night the coppers came. That's why we're drinking, not fighting."

Tasting the courage coming from the liquor, Grace asked Polly. "What was he like, before France?"

"He laughed, a lot. Wanted to work with horses, He was dead silent when he got out of that train, threw all his medals in the Cut. And then he met Caterina," her gaze remained transfixed somewhere over Grace's head, as if recalling a fond memory buried deep in her heart. Then it landed back on the Irishwoman and hardened like the steel modelled at the BSA.

"I will never forgive you. I will never take you in." Polly stated calmly.

"You come to Small Heath, a snitch from the Parish, worm your traitorous way into our lives only to stab us — in the back. You stood in the path of his redemption for your own personal gain. I will never forgive you, I will never accept you. And it's me who runs the business of the heart in this family."

She allowed herself a moment to light another tab. "You know that if you don't leave the city by tomorrow I won't be the one to kill you, but she will. You crossed the wrong woman in the worst possible matter. Run back to Ireland else you'll leave your bones in the Cut."

On her way towards the front door, the Irishwoman threw one last look to Polly. "Maybe what really upsets you is the thought that one day you might lose him."  
  
  


* * *

  
  


The ever bustling Garrison Lane was deathly silent as the remaining dozen veterans shuffled in. Caterina knew them all by name and by heart, and it brought her a sense of relief.

Thomas climbed on one of the factory ramps and look down at his military force that remained — family. "It's us. The Small Heath Rifles. And one very stubborn lady."

Thomas cleared his throat, turning to Jeremiah Jesus. "I know you vowed to God to never pick up a weapon again. But can you ask him from me if you can help us today?"

The preacher turned to Caterina. "Ma'am, you're Italian, your lot are pretty close to God. What does he say?"

"God says he doesn't deal with Small Heath, Jeremiah," she offered him a shy smile, grateful for including her.

"Good man. Arthur, Scudboat. You take the flanks. Just like at St Marie."

"Sir." The two saluted their commander, going off to hold their position.

"Curly, if any Shelby man dies here today, you bury us side by side." Poor Curly could hardly comprehend what was going on and yet he nodded all the same.

"All- all right." Curly nodded shakily. "You Miss Cardinale?"

Caterina offered him a small smile, not letting her anxiety show. "Hope you leave a spot for me." 

"We've about ten minutes. Make your peace with whoever." The crowd dispersed, each man taking a minute to pray to God or think of their loved ones before the fray. Thomas climbed off the ramp, making way to where Caterina stood waiting.

"Stay inside the Garrison while we deal with Kimber," when he saw her sour expression, he took up a firmer tone. "Cat, I mean it, and it's not because you're a woman."

"You know I can't promise you that," she told him softly, her fingers reaching out to graze his hand. Taking her hand in between his two, he savoured the way her tiny one fit against his.

They stood there, holding each other for a moment too long for it to be considered friendly. "I know."   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


"She's gone, then?" Harry called over to Thomas, the latter pouring himself a glass of whiskey from a bottle behind the bar. "You're not accustomed to not getting what you want, are you, Tommy? You wanted my pub and you took it."

"You got a fair price-" _And I didn't want her. Not really. Not her._

"What I got was an ultimatum. Like you give to everybody. Do it, or else. And yet, it's funny." Harry gave a hollow laugh, throwing down his cleaning rag.

"Everybody round here, they want you to win this battle. I think, what it is you're bad men, but you're our bad men."

The bartender took Tommy's silence as an invite to continue talking. "Will you go looking for her?"

The dark haired man only blew away the smoke of his cigarette, impassively staring at the row of liquor on the shelves. "And why would I? She's in the past. The past is not my concern. The future is no longer my concern, either."

"What is your concern, Tommy?" _Living? Dying? _Not quite. He has been dying every minute since he had a gun placed in his hands.

"The one minute. The soldier's minute. In a battle, that's all you get."

There was little to no light down in the trenches, sometimes only an oil lamp throwing down its flickering light into the holes they dug. When the shovels sounded nearer, or an explosion rocked the earth around them, he'd look up in a desperate search for that yellowish, dying flicker of flame.

It was enough to give him hope to barrel through the moist ground, mud, with bare hands if needed. That very flame haunted his dreams now, never being able to quite reach it before it escaped his grasp once again. 

"One minute of everything at once. And anything before is nothing. Everything after nothing." There was a weight lacing his voice,

"Nothing in comparison to that one minute."

It was a gust of regrets, all unforgiving and all at once; each and every _what if _and _only just. _

"Didn't you get enough minutes over there?" There was irony lacing Harry's voice, and a dose pity.

Thomas pursed his lips, downing the rest of the amber liquid in his glass. "Seems not, doesn't it?"

The front door opened, Caterina's voice calling for him softly. "Tommy, they're here."

Thomas turned away from the bar with a sigh, only to be stopped by the vision standing at the entrance of the pub; sun spilled like a halo over her lithe feminine form, and for a moment Caterina Cardinale resembled a divinity.   
  
  


* * *

  
  


Thomas pulled out his gun, checking the bullet count and dismantling the safety lock. The Kimber's men were already walking up to them, and they had to follow suit.

"Get your weapons out, boys, and load 'em up. Take your time. Hold 'em up in the air so as they can see what we've got." Billy Kimber instructed his men, hoping to scare the _gypsy scum_ as he preferred to call the Blinders.

John was first to poke at Kimber's retinue. "All guns and no balls, right, Billy boy?"

"So, what do we do now?" Arthur quietly asked Thomas. Noticeably outnumbered against Kimber and his men, there was little the Blinders could do. "Just give the order."

"It doesn't have to be like this, Kimber." Thomas tried to reason, hoping to strike a deal with the man before innocent lives are lost. 

"Too late for all that." Kimber scoffed. Lip curled in disgust, his eyes scanned the men opposite of him. "You've bit off more than you can chew, you little toerag. And now I'm going to take over this shithole."

"Oh? Well, if we have to use guns — let's use proper guns." Out of the factory on the side of the lane, Danny Owen and Freddie Thorne appeared, the latter carrying a deadly looking weapon in his hands

"Sergeant Thorne reporting for duty, sir." Freddie Thorne sauntered over to the front of the group, the machine gun slung over his shoulder relighting the confidence in other Blinders. 

"You were saying something about being out-gunned." Tommy smirked at Kimber, both sides having raised the guns at each other. 

The stare off was momentarily broken with someone pushing forward through the Peaky Blinder's rows.

"Buon giorno, signori." Caterina Cardinale stepped in between the two groups, determined to address the men Kimber paid to fight for him. Once the partnership between Kimber and Tommy broke, Billy Kimber reached out to another powerful family in Birmingham willing to offer their soldiers — the family led by Vicente Changretta.

"_Signorina_ Cardinale, get out of here, you'll get hurt." Someone called from the back row, but she was determined to stop this folly without the seemingly inevitable bloodshed.

"I'm giving you a chance to make a right decision; step away from Kimber immediately and you will be forgiven for your service. I'm giving you a chance to escape the sinking ship, no questions asked." There were murmurs of discord among Kimber's lines, and the man himself turned red in irritation, his moustache twitching upon his ferret-like face.

"We're of the same blood of Sicily, no matter your allegiance to Changretta."

"Move?" A female voice interrupted her, and it came from behind the rows of Kimber's men. It was none other than Ada Thorne, dressed in a dramatic black garb, pushing a pram.

"What are you doing?" Came a screech from Freddie as his wife stepped in between two fighting gangs.

"I believe you boys call this _"no-man's land."_ " The woman retorted smartly.

"_Ada_." The poor man was at his wits end, terror lacing his words.

"Shut up and listen."

"Have you lost your mind?" Freddie barked incredulously.

"I said shut up!"

"Now, most of you were in France. So you all know what happens next." Ada began, taking in a shaky breath. She was risking all she had, but if she didn't, she would surely lose her husband, her brothers, the woman she considered her sister in everything but blood. Ada Thorne was sick of guns, sick of war and death and suffering.

"I've got brothers and a husband here but you've all got somebody waiting for you. Now, I'm wearing black in preparation. I want you to look at me. I want you all to look at me. Who'll be wearing black for you? Think about them. Think about them right now. And fight if you want to, but that baby ain't moving anywhere."

She defiantly stood her ground, pausing for dramatic effect. "And neither am I."

Caterina stepped forward, shrugging Tommy off when he tried to hold her back, and stood by Ada's side, taking her hand in solidarity. 

"She's right, you know." Kimber smirked venomously. "Why should all you men die? It should just be them who's caused it."

It happened quickly; Kimber raising the gun in Tommy's direction, a bang, the bullet lodging in his chest as the smug looking man smiled victoriously.

Another _bang_.

Danny Whizzbang now laid dead, for the second time, on the muddy ground, his lifeblood seeping into the cobbled stones.

"Don't shoot!" Freddie Thorne's voice echoed distantly in her ears.

Billy Kimber laughed grotesquely, ecstatic at the sight before him, and not at all aware of Thomas striding forward and pulling out his own gun.

_ Bang_ and the Birmingham's notorious kingpin laid on the dirty pavement of Small Heath, murky rainwater soaking his expensive suit.

"Ada, move away."

"Don't shoot! Hold your guns up!"

"Enough." Thomas roared, effectively shutting the crowd up. "Kimber and me fought this battle one on one."

"It's _over_."

"Go home to your families." Cat addressed what was left of Kimber's retinue once several men felt the scene. The remaining Italians looked at each other, uneasy, but nodded still. "And tell them who's the boss now."

"Scudboat, Curly pick him up." The two bent down to pick up Danny. It was time to patch up the wounds and bury the fallen.  
  


* * *

  
  


Noise and music flowed out of the Garrison where both the Blinders and Caterina's Italians celebrated swift victory over Billy Kimber.

"A toast! A toast to Shelby Limited! And to Cardinale Company!" It was John who yelled it out over the racket, one hand slung over Esme's shoulder. The newly made Shelby woman turned out to be a refreshing company to all, a lively heart of the party.

"Here, here!"

"_To Shelby Limited_!"

"_Salute! _"

Thomas raised his glass in salute, looking for the right moment to escape the ruckus. Once he wiggled out of Arthur's already intoxicated grip, he necked another dose of his liquid courage and went off in search of the enigmatic Italian woman that stubbornly defied him with each living moment.

Caterina stood a few feet from the entrance, a cigarette lit between two fingers, looking off somewhere in the foggy distance of the Garrison Lane. "Not celebrating?"

"Contemplating." She inhaled another drag of cigarette before she met his gaze. It fell on his dress shirt, soaked with blood from Kimber's shot.

"You're bleeding." Her gasp made him glance down too — the stitches Jeremiah had sawn onto him after removing the bullet seemed to have loosened, letting the blood flow freely down his chest.

"It's nothing." He retaliated, only for her to let out a short laugh. _Stubborn as a Shelby.._

"Come here. Can't have you bleeding to death after such victory." She was already fumbling with the bandage wrapped tightly around his chest, adjusting the pressure applied to the leaking wound.

"It's just a scratch."

"It's a bloody bullet hole, Thomas. Stop being a hero for one moment and let me help you." With determination in her dark eyes, Caterina made a quick work of fixing the bandage, without noticing the way Thomas's eyes followed her every movement.

He placed a finger underneath her chin, making her still the fumbling fingers. Cerulean blues of his eyes darkened, causing the pulsating heath in the pit of her stomach to bubble and seethe.

How mad it made her feel, the way one look could make her lose the sold ground beneath her feet. The feeling was far more intoxicating than any liquor, any cigarette.

The proximity of their bodies allowed them to feel the buzzing heath radiating off each other, and Cat could feel her heart beating in her ears. Thomas was staring at her lips and if only, if only she stood up on her tiptoes-

With one soft push, hand pressing against his chest, she stepped back. The unbreachable wall she built around her heart resurfaced, shielding it from the cold reach of heartbreak, inevitable if she allowed them to fall.

"I won't be the second choice. Good night Mr Shelby."

"Where are you going?" He called after her, as she disappeared down the Garrison Lane, hands firmly in the pockets of her dark coat.

It was the hardest thing she had ever done, she realised, dully aware of the tears waiting to spill down her pale cheeks. "There are debts in need of settlement."   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


As soon as Polly saw Thomas reenter The Garrison, she strode behind the bar, pulling out a finely wrapped bottle of champagne. She swayed slightly, trying not to bump into any of the revellers still dancing around the floor, making her way towards him.

"Shall I open it?" She grinned, already halfway drunk on happiness and whiskey. "It's one Cat bought for a special occasion, a fine vintage it says."

"Not tonight Pol."

"What did you do?" Polly demanded sharply, but once she noticed the resigned face of her nephew she softened her voice, setting the unfortunate bottle down on the bar. 

"Thomas, dear, tell me."

"I fucked up Polly." Thomas Shelby stared at the amber liquid sloshing happily in his glass, mocking him with the very shade he wanted to forget. _Or did he?_

"Fucked up grand."  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The evening train bound for London would be arriving in no more than ten minutes — a fact which Inspector Chester Campbell knew and which is why he rushed Grace through the halls of Birmingham Central Train Station, most eager to escape the clutches of the damned city.

"Who comes there?" Inspector Campbell called into the dark of the station hallway.

A form entered from the inky darkness, taking shape of a coat clad person, firm strides against the marble echoing against the walls.

"Death in a form of a woman," came a hollow reply, slowly materialising from the shadows.

It was not hard to recognise the voice heavily laden with the remains of Sicilian heritage, and Chester immediately pushed Grace behind him in protection. Caterina Clarke was on a path of vendetta. "Did you come here to finish to job?"

"Cat please, we're leaving." Grace tugged at Campbell's arm, eyes flittering between the clock on the wall and the gun wielding woman in front of her.

"I trusted you, and you sold yourself for what? The king and the country?" She did not even bother to glance her way, instead held her revolver firmly pointed at Chester Campbell's head.

"Go on, shoot." Campbell dared her, knowing how it made rage bubble within her. The infamous Italian temper of hers was about to resurface, like a thunderstorm in brewing.

Grace clutched at the Inspectors coat like a frightened child, pleadingly looking at the person she used to call her friend. "Please Cat, for the friendship we shared, let us go-"

"God save the King, innit?"

Campbell had a gun in his hand. In the distance, the train broke the evening silence.

A single gunshot.

"_No!_"  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a chapter that broke my heart writing it - hope the impact was effective


	17. XV | SINS OF A BROTHER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which she realises the cost of having a family

**XV | SINS OF A BROTHER**

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 occurred on the day Billy Kimber died.

First, the Liverpool warehouses that had formerly been rented by Cardinale Company Import - _the __deal in question was struck at the Cheltenham races_ \- were taken over by the latter and immediately transferred into Roberto Cardinale's possession with a help of some family friends on high legal positions.

Second, a deal made by Thomas and Caterina was finally settled. It was a contract of mutual benefit between the two, made seemingly long time ago, on the day fate and Danny Whizz-bang helped them meet, that they split the Worcester races business - _Shelby Company LTD_ picking the bookmaking profit while the Clarkes monopolised the sales of liquor on the racetracks.

The bricks fell into their place, and the day seemed almost perfect for such a victory. It would have been, were it not for a meddling barmaid and one stubborn Inspector.

Caterina Cardinale clutched her left arm tightly. The red liquid seeping out of her wound made her fingers stick, unsettlingly warm and creeping down her shirt sleeve.

If that old bastard Campbell had positioned his hand any more to the right she would've met her maker on the cold tiles of Birmingham's train station.

That was not quite they way she intended to go.

The graze on her arm was a small price to pay for what she did to her opposing party - she faintly remembered the Inspector buckling at his knees, the very similar trickle of blood flowing down his immaculate suit. In came the London bound train rushing onto the platform, its ripping whistle masking the gunshots.

Most prominent in her memory remained Grace's pitched scream, luggage falling out of her grasp and reaching down to steady him.

The young woman rounded the corner of the Bradford street sharply, eager to exit the shadowy lanes of Digbeth now the sun had set. It was dangerous place for one to find themselves unarmed, especially a woman. _Especially_ a woman like her.

Blood pounding in her ears and head bowed, Caterina hardly looked around herself, the only thing running through her mind being the monotonous rhythm of her shoes hitting the damp pavement.

_Left, right, left - pass the puddle - left.. look behind you... left, right-_

Four figures stood in her path, their silhouettes elongated by the street lamp. The light narrowed down their coat clad shoulders and onto the black muddied boots, faces hidden by the very familiar type of hat.

Though their faces were unknown to her, the features they all possessed churned her insides most unpleasantly; the eagle-like slope of their noses and slicked dark hair, and the olive shade of their skin so similar to her own.

"Ah, fuck." Spilled unintentionally from her lips.

One of the fedora clad men cut her path off, inching dangerously towards her. "_Buona sera, Signorina Cardinale_."

Her mother language surprised her, coming from the threatening strangers. Caterina stood her ground firmly, determined not to show an inkling of weakness in front of them.

He pointed his beady eyes towards her, running them up and down her hunched figure. "We come in the name of Darby Sabini of London. You hear of our boss, yes?"

Her brow furrowed in confusion. _Whatever were they talking about? _"_Che cosa volete? Non abbiamo cose con Sabini._"

A rumble of what was supposed to be chuckles passed through the group, yet Caterina found herself unable to breathe.

"No? You should probably ask your brother about that," rasped the tallest one in his broken English. His hand was quicker than her brain processing the danger, and by then the two larger strangers held her arms behind her.

Searing pain shot through her back and she screamed, shoulders twisting in a most unnatural way.

"Get off. Leave me alone!"

A punch landed in her stomach, galaxies dancing on her eyelids as she screwed them tightly shut. Another one at the bottom of her ribs made her bite her tongue, the taste of metal filing her mouth. Her peripheral vision darkened, and she wondered if it had gotten darker outside, somehow.

"Darby Sabini sends his regards."

She wasn't strong in a physical sense, besides knowing how to hit the spot where it hurt the most, the basics she was allowed to learn from the men that guarded her family.

Weakness surged through her limbs once they let her fall limply to the ground, with as much of grace as they would have given a sack of flour. Hours, it felt like _hours_ before they stopped pulling and tugging, punching, pinching and kicking.

_Oh brother, what have you done?_ She thought but instead, a pained scream ripped out of her throat, bordering on animalistic cry for help.

For most of her life she had been surrounded by men that watched her back, lulled into a false sense of safety. Now, alone and helpless underneath the moonlight she repented not trying harder, not being stronger.

The mens thundering footsteps quieted down until they were heard no more. Through her swollen eyelids she noticed a trickle of blood -_ her blood_ \- mixing with the rainy puddle between the cracks on the pavement.

A pang of pain shot through her head, making her twitch. _Cold_, she was cold. One of her hands stretched outwards, not reaching for anything, really, but instead fingernails digging into the mud.

_Of what use was a silver tongue in a dark alley?_ For the very first time in her life, Caterina Clarke was truly afraid of meeting her end.

* * *

Faces blurred until they disappeared completely. Her sleep was distressing; coming to and leaving consciousness in waves, pictures rushing in like a waterfall.

She woke twice; the first time when Maria tugged on the red and raw skin on her arm from where the doctor pulled the shrapnel out, sewing it tightly shut. The second time she rasped for water to moisten her chapped lips before she fell back into the cushions, drained by the minimal effort.

"Caterina? Cara mia!"

The wave of light crashed against her eyelids, making her squint and swat at the violently bright lamp above her head. "_Maria, quel giorno e oggi? Che cosa ha sucesso?"_

In the attempt to move it was as if she had a million tiny bee stings all over her broken body, every nerve and limb on flame.

Maria's mood dampened instantly, grey cloud over her aged features. "You're father is home, _Signorina_." The woman pushed the sheets off her body, gently beckoning her to try to peel herself off the bed.

Instead, Caterina let herself fall back into the pillow for another moment, savouring a moment of painful peace before entering the fray.

"Well, that's unfortunate."

* * *

Roberto Cardinale would have seemed almost healthy if it were not for the lines on his face, now more prominent than ever, or perhaps the greys that turned to white upon his head.

The patriarch of the Cardinale family kept writing while she entered the main offices, carefully shutting the doors behind her.

"_Papa_." She started off politely before her eyes landed on a disheveled figure in the leather armchair on the side of father's desk.

Her snivelling brother failed to meet her gaze, instead continuing to raise his two yellowish fingers to his mouth, a thin and limp cigarette nestled between them.

"Franco you spineless bastard, what have you done?" Her brother flinched at her raised tone, trying to sink deeper into the chair, careful to avoid her blazing eyes. Ready to pounce on him despite the soreness of her muscles, the raven haired woman was only stopped by the sharp, unyielding voice of her father.

Roberto Cardinale lowered his pen down, alternating his glare between his two insolent children, behaving more like a pack of unruly dogs than siblings.

"Sit down, _Caterina_."

He did not have to tell her twice, and she plopped down on the chair on the other side of the desk, careful not to irritate her wounds. Despite his invalidity, Roberto still held the influence and power he once possessed.

"We don't fuck with Darby Sabini, that's a rule. We hold the North, he holds the South." Caterina mimicked the distance with her hands. "Tell me what did you do that resulted in me getting beaten up in a dark alley?"

Though the question she posed was directed to Francis it was her father that answered her. All the bricks finally found their place and every grain of doubt she might have had bloomed and brought fruit. _Santo Dio, how stupid I was.. _

The goods arrived through Bristol docks from several different sources but all in the end branching from Singapore. From there they were smuggled in empty spirit bottles that were made in their Bath glasswork factory.

From there the entire shipment regularly passed through the country by train until it reached their Birmingham storage. As that was the place from which the empty bottles were taken to the distillery to be filled, Francisco's men emptied them during the night, taking the goods into one of his secret shops where they were weighted, counted and repacked.

"Opium," the word almost made her retch up the tiny sip of tea Maria had insisted on before she let her go down to the office.

The drug was then secretly boarded onto the very same wagons that delivered the liquor their family dealed with to London.

Her darling brother was dealing under the table and right in front of her eyes. _How could I have been so stupid? _She was supposed to notice such dealings, it was why _she_ was the one who controlled the books.

London brewed its own trouble from then on - and it was called Darby Sabini. One would consider London a vast market with enough place for a diverse palette of traders of any kind. And it was, if you paid your due to the chief of the infamous Italian gang.

Most often than not, the expenses of smuggling into capital were far too much for the little entrepreneurs. At that point Darby would swoop in and purchase their goods for a minimum price only to resell them later. It worked like clockwork and Darby Sabini remained one of the most powerful gangsters in Britain.

But Francis - _oh Francis_ \- could not stop his Italian spite and refused to pay the trading fee to Sabini. It was a direct insult on his home terrain, and he would not forget it.

"It was just a warning, you see," Francis piped up for the first time that evening. "He just wants his part and one small favour and it would all be forgotten."

Roberto nodded, satisfied before turning to his daughter. "You'll go to London and marry Darby to settle the debt."

It took her several nauseating seconds to realise what he was implying. With a sharp scoff she pointed to the fresh bruise forming across her cheek.

"And I suppose this is my wedding gift?" Anger turned to bewilderment, and bewilderment into blind rage.

"Is this how we deal with stupid shit Francis does? He almost gets himself fucking killed and you think its a grand idea to sell me to Sabini?! He's a monster!" Even up there in Birmingham every once in a while came a report of a tragic shootouts in the heart of the capital where not even the civilians were spared. Darby Sabini's reputation was dealed and sealed with blood.

"My only crime is that I was born a woman. I struck a fine deal with Kimber and now we re the most powerful family in the North and I don't even get a thanks?"

Robert waved her off with a single roll of his eyes. "This company would've functioned either way, with or without you. And you will cease your frolicking with the Shelbys, it's enough that we have to deal with one other family." She was used to him undermining her every chance he got, it was all she ever knew from him. But this - this struck a particular cord in her heart.

"I'm not done with you, Caterina." His tone made her sit back down immediately. "They tell me: my daughter in the arms of a Peaky Blinder. And not any Peaky Blinder, no. _Thomas Shelby_!"

Ice crawled down her spine and her back straightened, disregarding the pain that shot through her every time she moved. "I was in no man's arms, father." She stated irritatedly.

His fist collided with the table again, making her heart jump slightly. "I tolerated your acquaintance with that Shelby girl but this is going too far!"

"I risked my neck for the company and this is my thanks?" Caterina rose to her feet, standing wobbly and steadying herself on the desk.

"I wish you died instead of Alessio and spared us all of your stupidity, Francis!" Foaming at mouth she spat at the man she was supposed to call her _brother - _he was nothing to her now.

All that could've once been brotherly love between them rotted and died the minute he stabbed her in the back. Family or not it was one thing she could never and would never forgive.

Out of nowhere Roberto's arm grabbed hers, pulling her down in the level of his eyes. "Grow up you insolent girl! This is the real world. Is that how you repay your father for giving you everything?" He barked, face turning a dangerous shade of red.

"I've been running this business for seven years you miserable piece of shit." In retaliation she spat directly into his face, making him let her go. The place where he squeezed her arm was sore.

"Wench like your mother was." Robert grumbled. _Not mother, how dare he_ \- all the while Francis remained quiet, smoking his limp cigarette.

"Yes, I am my mothers daughter. I'd rather be a _Greco _than be associated with you for another second." For years she imagined, truly, the possibilities of eloping, of walking through the doors and never looking back. Now when the moment came it surprisingly hurt much less than expected.

"Get out." He was one of those men whose silent rage was worse than all the curses upon the land.

"Get out of my sight before I kill you."

Caterina did not hesitate for a moment.

* * *

In the heart of Small Heath stretched out a lane of brown brick houses, all of them quite equal in shape and stench of wet floorboards that wafted through the flats every time it rained more heavily than usual.

The tenants were mostly good, honest working people, or whatever equaled for that in the slums Birmingham - factory worker and washing maids, the Browns who owned the bakery at the end of the lane, and several war veterans who often made ruckus at night.

It was a calm street - or at least, the gunshots were heard less often than elsewhere, and only one or two wives were regularly beaten - and the rent was quite affordable.

And most importantly, Caterina Cardinale reckoned, hardly anyone could recognise her there. Her eyes trailed along the numbers on the right side of the street, looking for the familiar _9_ and green front door with chipped wood.

Knocking took more of her energy than she suspected it would. Several sharp curses were heard on the other side of the door until they were violently opened by a dark haired woman in a flowery dressing gown.

A sharp _What?_ came from Elizabeth Stark's mouth before she had the moment to take in the hunched figure at her door.

"Hey Liz." Beads of sweat glistened on Caterina's pale forehead as she tried to steady herself on the doorframe. A feeble smile wavered on her lips. "Fancy seeing you in your own house."

"How you been?"

The pain in her side took to worse, influenced by the harsh cold she was exposed to. Two Lizzie's danced before her eyes, the nausea making her head spin violently until the ground blurred and disappeared underneath her.

The last thing she saw was Lizzie's horror-stricken face on the other side of the door.


	18. XVI | SPURN THY NAME

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which she is lost and she is found

**XVI | SPURN THY NAME**

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 Caterina spent peeking from behind the crocheted curtains of Lizzie's kitchen, ever vigilant for a sign of her father's men.

Every passerby that lingered in front of the house for more than a socially acceptable minute or two made the hairs on the back of her neck stand and the pit of her stomach drop down to her heel.

In all her years Caterina had never felt so miserable; and she was miserable because she was afraid. _Mundane_, she grumbled inside her head, _how human and ordinary it is to fear someone. My own father, none the less. _

Lizzie observed her as she quietly washed the dishes after breakfast.

In all their years of friendship - and more - Caterina had been the epitome of sharpness, in both the neatness of her dress and elegance of her poise. Never was one of her dark hairs out of order, nor could a crease be found on one of her many tweed suit jackets.

A Roman Venus, like one from the ancient pages of the Aeneid, with a touch of pure wickedness underneath her eyelids.

The tousle-haired brunette in her burgundy nightgown hardly resembled the woman whose name trembled on the lips of the people of Birmingham.

"You have to get out eventually." Caterina hummed non committialy, nails tapping a familiar tune on the wooden windowsill.

"Maybe get out of the city for a while. Cut your hair, dye it if you're that paranoid."

Cat turned around to face her friend. "Hair I can get over with, but don't ask me to leave Birmingham. I couldn't if I wanted." _Birmingham was the Devils pit, and she was firmly grounded in the centre of it. It was where she belonged. _

The older woman wiped her hands off of the damp cloth by the sink, hands red and aching from the coldness of the water. "Did I ever tell you how stupid are you?"

"Might have mentioned it once or twice." Caterina shrugged, immediately ducking right to avoid Lizzie's hand aiming to punch her playfully.

"In the bath, come on." She tugged her through the flat, both wearing equally mirthful grins upon their faces.

"Why?" Caterina cocked her head to the side, brows furrowing.

Lizzie rolled her eyes again, pushing a clean towel in her hands before turning to browse the room for some candles to illuminate the area. "I'll cut ya hair and then we'll go to the market. Don't fuck with me, off you go."

"Well, you know, we did fu-" With a slight gasp Caterina was pushed into the bathroom, the doors closed right in her face. The barrier hardly kept in the giggles still coming from the bathroom.

Two sharp knocks broke the lighthearted banter. With a firm stride and quite a lot of hesitance — _and a sharp knife from the cupboard tucked into the pocket of her pants _\- Lizzie opened the front door.

The tall and lean sillouethe of Thomas Shelby loomed in her doorway. "Hello Lizzie."

Lizzie narrowed her eyes through the smoky cloud, quick to spit out one singular word.

"No."

"Excuse me?" Furrowing his eyebrows, the man in front of her exhaled the smoke in his lungs. He hasn't been refused by anyone in a very long time - he failed to count in the beautiful woman that slipped right through his fingers only weeks ago.

"Not working today, Mr Shelby." She gave him a curt nod, hoping he got the message across. Just as she was about to shut the doors as sharply as she had opened them, his foot lodged between the doors and the doorframe.

"And when will you be working? Shall I come later?" Thomas questioned, his ire slowly but steadily rising.

"I won't be working for you." She refused again. It was her every right to do so — she still had her dignity.

They were engaged in a silent standoff, him on the doormat and she with one hand on the door handle.

"You need the _money_, Lizzie." He stressed that vile word, the one that continuously ruined all the joy in her existence.

"I do, but not yours. Good day Mr Shelby."

"Well I can't force you but-"

"But I can force you out of my flat. _Good day_. " The doors shut right in the face of the most feared men in Birmingham without hesitation and with a resounding bang.

Lizzie exhaled the remainder of the oxygen from her lungs in relief. "What a twat."

Locking thrice behind her, and straightening the brass handle — a silly habit she harboured for years - Lizzie went back to her plans.

The sound of water splashing against the sides of the iron tub was followed by Caterina's light voice calling out. "Who was that Liz?"

Lizzie did not look up from rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, in search of the silver sicors she used to cut her own hair.

"Some troublesome idiot dear, nothing to worry about. "

_Thomas Shelby was a problem for some other day._

* * *

She shouldn't have been surprised at Lizzie knowing a huge amount of people.

It was not necessarily because of her line of work, but because she was — deep down underneath her strict facade — an empathic and warm woman, easy to talk to and progressive in every possible way.

To help her lay low for a while, she found her a place in one of the only bookstores in Birmingham. Hiding her behind the endless piles of musty books, Lizzie reckoned, was a proper catch.

Of what use was a bookshop in a poor, illiterate quarter of Birmingham? After two uneventful weeks and only having sold four copies of The Bible before Christmas and some Emily Brontë, Caterina was miserable. The receivers of those gifts would most likely be miserable too.

The owner rarely showed up, only to count the days inventory and pass a snide comment or two at her appearance or the lack of ring on her finger.

Madame Straightam was a wife and a widow, mother of two _handsome lads_ as she loved to call them, and firmly held that a proper Englishwoman should have been married by eighteen, a mother by twenty and not dwell in business she had no use of in the household.

It was fair to say Caterina and Barb Straightam hated each others guts.

But every pence was a treasure these days and Cat had to swallow a great deal of her pride to remain firmly seated every time she conversed with the vile woman. She did not want to be a financial burden to her Lizzie.

Christmas was spent at Lizzie's, her home now too she reckoned, the two sharing a bottle of red over a humble roast she managed to cook up. Poor it may have been, but it was by for the most wonderful Christmas she ever had.

There was no screaming, no threats or gunshots, no awkward conversations about the business over the pudding or the endless parade of guests in their home. There were no gifts — and there was no need for them. They were alive and well for one more year and it was enough.

"Cat? Cat it _is_ you!"

Ada Shelby had a particular poise to her appearance - an elegant one of a thunderstorm, and equally tempestuous. Rosy cheeks slapped by the harsh winter winds complimented the black flower design of her dress.

"Shh! Keep quiet." Caterina barely managed to protest before the other woman wrapped her arms around her, squeezing her tightly.

The familiar smell of violets and chamomile - Ada's favourite tea, engulfed her sense. It was all it took to calm her senses, and the taller woman slowly sunk into her dearest friends embrace.

Once she managed to peel herself from Cat, Ada held her firmly at arms length. A disapproving was plaster over her face. "You think I wouldn't find you, you silly duck?"

Caterina might have underestimated the lengths her dearest friend would go to to find her.

"Have you any idea how long it took us to find you, when you are here in this dusty rathole in a Godforsaken dump of a-"

"Lizzie's been harbouring me, me being a bloody fugitive from my family and all." Cat laughed bitterly, showing her to the two armchairs in the back of the shop. "It's just temporary I suppose — the job I mean. Until the tempers have calmed, and I no longer have a bounty on my head."

She spoke of it as it was a joke to have a price on your life — it was, in a sense. She has had a certain count over her head as of the moment she stepped one toe into the family business. Though it was now her own family that most likely hunted her down.

Ada took her hands between her own. "Come home, Cat."

"I don't have a home Ada. To hell with my name, too, I don't have that either." Caterina smiled, remembering a line from one of the Shakespeares works she read while not doing her job that week.

"_Deny thy father and refuse thy name_. Our dear William was ahead of his time"

The other woman groaned irritated, throwing her hands up. "You _do_ have a home. Come with me to Watery Lane."

"No, no way Ada, I can't." Her spine straightened and she levelled Ada with a chilling glare. Watery Lane would only bring unwanted attention and conflict between their two families and that was hardly a think she needed right now.

"I'll keep bugging you. You know I'm persistent as hell when I want."

She reminded her of Maria in that moment, hands firmly planted on her waist and staring her down. She missed the old woman and her constant blabbing in her southern Italian.

A chime of bell at the door could be heard before a new voice added. "She is, inn she?"

Caterina jumped in surprise, long strides taking her to the front of the shop in a matter of seconds. A tall lanky figure stood there, in his dirty beige coat and a giggling babe in his arms. Never in her life had she been so happy to see a communist. "Freddie! My God is that-"

"Your Godson." He supplied, propping the babe more upright to show her how big had Karl gotten. Caterina reached forward, a warmth coiling around her heart.

"We rented a flat in London for this year to come, the family pinched in now the business is running smoothly. I'll leave one spare room for you, for when you decide to clear out your lungs from all the bloody smoke in here." Ada stood by her husband and son, looking expectantly at her.

"We're here until the New Year's passes, yeah? I'll see you at the Eve's party at The Garrison."

Caterina's mouth fell open in utter shock and disbelief. "Ada-" That woman had less filter that those cheap cigarettes her family smuggled. And _that_ was saying something.

"You'll wear that green dress of Polly's you always wanted to borrow." Ada announced firmly, with no room left for discussion. It was truly a wondrous dress, all emerald velvet that fell down to her knees, and a head turning slit down her back. Before the War Polly bought it for any special occasion, but ever since she had gained a few pounds and it no longer fit as nicely as she liked.

The dark haired Italian bit down on her lip, nodding slowly. She was still processing the hurdle of information passed onto her in the last ten minutes to produce any other kind of response. "I promise Ada. I love you."

"Love you too, you stupid. Come on you two rascals." Her friend gave her a quick peck on the cheek, the newly made parents disappearing through the door as tempestuously as they had arrived.

Caterina stood firmly planted to the creaking wooden floorboards of the deceasing bookshop, once again surrounded only by dusty volumes of books and several rats in the back room.

Ada Shelby would truly never cease to amaze her.


	19. XVII | AT THE EDGE OF A DECADE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which they enter a new decade with new thoughts, new scores and new mysteries

**XVII | AT THE EDGE OF A DECADE**

** NEW YEARS EVE 1920 **

**FOR A MOMENT**, Caterina considered not even entering The Garrison. Perhaps telling Ada she was not feeling up to weather? But then again, it was just a party. At least, that's how she reassured herself.

Anxiety bubbled in her throat and her fingers itched for a familiar comfort of a cigarette nestled between them.

With a puff of air out of her lungs she smoothed down the invisible creases of her borrowed dress and pressed her hand on the Garrison's door.

Loud piano and trumpet poured over the blond heads, brown heads, slicked back and disheveled heads, all bobbing in the rhythm the piano player set.

The pub was already overflowing with people, mostly members of the Shelby family and other Blinders, even some of Esme's Lee kin, noticeable by their mismatched clothes and curly hairs.

A young man, most likely not of legal age yet, paused her at the door and offered to take her coat.

Mildly speechless at the unexpected chivalry, she noticed the peaked flat cap on the boy's head, the glint of sliver underneath its rim flashing once he turned and disappeared into the back room with her coat.

_Exposed_ \- she felt utterly exposed now without the artificial armour her black woollen coat provided, as she stood on the last step into the pub, clutching her tiny golden purse to her side.

With a feigned confidence she strode towards the bar, eagerly trying to spot some familiar faces.

"Kitty? Is that you love?" Someone boomed behind her. Large hands spun her around, nearly making her topple until she came face to face with a grinning Arthur Shelby.

"Oi! Look who's 'ere!" The eldest Shelby waved his lanky arm through the air, the other one thrown around her shoulders.

His enthusiastic cheers attracted the attention of other mildly inebriated partygoers, including another member of the Shelby clan.

It was John that noticed them first, abandoning some of the Lee's he was drinking with to rush towards them.

"Hello John, Arthur. Happy holidays."

She let John cup her face in brotherly affection and closed her eyes when he pressed a kiss to her hair. "We thought you dead or worse. What happened?"

"Might even tell you after a couple of drinks." She quipped cheekily, both her and the boys letting out a laugh.

"My treat then."

"Oh you clean up nicely! Did you start without me?" Ada was balancing a crystal glass filled to the brim with rose coloured liquid in one hand and baby Karl in the other.

Cat rose her eyebrow in question, reaching to take Karl into her arms. The baby quickly nestled his little head on her chest, tiny hand grasping and tugging at the soft fabric of her dress.

"You do know you're not supposed to drink when you feed the baby?" She eyed the glass in her hand with obvious disapproval. The newly made mother simply snorted, reaching for another dainty flute of bubbly liquid from the passing waiter.

"Mum did it with Finn and he's fine I spose' ." Caterina was just about to retort when a deep cough sounded behind her back.

"Cat."

"Tommy."

It was the first she saw him after the Black Star Day, ever since he tried to kiss her. Ever since she made the decision to not let Thomas Shelby play his wicked game with her heart.

His eyes flittered over her exposed arms, but was quick to recover his stance. Not quick enough, though, as it had gone noticed by his other siblings.

"Good to have you back."

"Just for the night." She quickly responded, balancing Karl on her other arm.

It would be an understatement to say the emerald dress Cat wore fit her perfectly; it fell like spring waterfalls down to her ankles and flared every time she turned.

Thin straps and open back revealed the olive tone of her arms, her gentle collarbones and just an indication of her chest. The fabric wrapped around her in a dangerously teasing manner, close-fitting in all the places people tended to look at for more than a decent amount of time.

Someone else tugged at her dress now. "Catty can I be your New Year's kiss?"

Thankfully, the youngest Shelby saved her from the uncomfortable conversation she almost had with his brother.

"What a gentleman, how ever could I say no?" Caterina grinned back at Finn, eyes glazing over in joy.

"The boys will be so jealous I get to kiss the prettiest girl at the party." The boy bounced happily on his feet, his cap going up and down with him.

"Oh is that so?" She turned to see Finn's group of rascals several feet away from them chatting animatedly and pointing fingers at Finn.

She pecked Karl's cheek once more before returning him to his mother.

"Now Finn Shelby, would you care for a dance?"

She was determined to dance her worries away even if it meant her feet would be killing her tomorrow.

* * *

A dance with Finn turned into another one with John, and a very energetic waltz with Harry the bartender who loosened his apron for the night.

Just she was about to sit down for a drink and a fag, the Italian was swooped up by Arthur for something that must have been a traditional gipsy dance; the Lee kin spun their dance partners wildly around and Caterina could spot Esme and John having the time of their lives in the corner, swinging to the lively beat.

As the midnight struck, followed by hollers and cheers all around her, Caterina found her favourite dance partner.

Bending down to her partner's height, she pressed two loud kisses on his cheeks, leaving noticeable lipstick stains. Finn stood on his tiptoes to return the favour, Caterina's heart melting at his quiet _Thank you._

"To the shining nineteen twenties!"

"Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year from Shelby Company Limited!" Arthur roared, nearly falling from one of the rickety tables, one hand clasped around the narrow neck of a champagne bottle.

Without warning she was yanked towards the bar, and a glass of liquor in her hands a moment later. "Tell aunt Polly. What happened between you and Thomas?"

"Nothing happened and that's how it will remain."

She squirmed under Polly's scrutinising stare, turning her attention to the way lights reflected from the full glass of whiskey in her hand.

"You know, when I want something from Arthur, a pinch of drink is enough and you can crack him open like a fresh shell. You on the other hand, you're a though nut to crack." Polly pointed her lighter in her direction before using it to light the cigarette she fished out of her blue slik purse.

The dark haired woman rolled her eyes. "I have my dignity and pride, Polly."

"Good. Thats what I wanted to hear." She bobbed her head unsteadily, already quite drunk by the amount of blinking she made while they talked. "Too good for all of us, is what you are."

"And yet I'm pretty sure you are not letting me go — _ever_." It was a fact she became increasingly sure of during these few hours — the Shelby's would always hold a part of her.

Polly hummed in agreement, already reaching for another drink from the waiter ; Caterina itched for a change of subject.

"Tell me, what's going on in the world? I've been stuck in between dust and older dust for weeks. What of Nechells?"

Polly sighed, letting her gaze fall on the merry gathering of friends and family before them. "Good news is, your brother's disappeared. No one's seen him, gone up in smoke and vanished."

Cat didn't bother to hide her sour expression at the mention of her traitorous brother. She let Polly continue, and by her expression she knew what news came next would not be nearly as good.

"Changretta has asked for a meeting with Robert. They blame the Clarkes for keeping the Danny Whizzbang secret. They see it as a grave offence — it was one of their own that was murdered after all."

Caterina bit down on her lip, guilt creeping up her spine like a winter's chill, unforgiving and relentless.

"I had to do it, for the bigger picture." She hated how small her voice was. The Changretta's had always been great family friends, when she was younger she played with their children, she drank tea with Audrey Changretta.

Polly shook her head. "That's not how Vincente Changretta sees it. The only people that profited from this was you and Thomas. It will take a lot to subdue the spirits."

"What do I do Polly?" Out of habit she ran her hand through the dark tresses, ruining the fancy hairdo she spent hours on.

Polly's hand shot out grabbing her wrist in a terrifying hold. It was undeniable Polly Gray had an incredibly strong grip, and Caterina could feel the blood-flow to her hand being cut off.

"Come back. You are not you. Hiding behind books and shortened tresses? _Snap back._"

"No daughter of mine will be a fretting cunt. Is that clear?" She waited until Caterina nodded franticly to release her, a violently red mark remaining on her wrist.

"Now I've been spying on that delicious piece of a man all night." Polly sneakily pointed at the handsome young man amidst a group of people who seemed to glance at the two of them every few minutes.

Caterina chuckled. "Good luck."

Necking her drink, Polly Gray was a wild animal ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey. "Oh I don't need luck, I'm Polly Gray."

"And oh, for the record — keep the dress. He can't keep his eyes off you." With one last wink, Polly disappeared in the sea of people, leaving Caterina with a smile on her face and a newly restored confidence in her heart.

Ada and Freddie departed not long after the midnight struck, and so did John and Esme; the former having to feed and put their child to sleep, and the latter most likely making one of their own.

It was well past two and she kept yawning endlessly, eager to fight away the sleep with a smoke. Finding she had no matches or a lighter on her, Cat resorted to tapping the person standing next to her on the shoulder.

"You've got some flame by any chance?" She asked the stranger, his back still turned to her.

Not at all prepared to see Thomas being the mysterious man, Caterina accidentally dropped the unlit cigarette to the floor.

Before she could bend down to retrieve it, half embarrassed and half surprised by her own reaction, he fished one of his own from the inner pocket of his suit. Hesitantly, she took the offered stick, letting him light it with a precise movement of his wrist.

"Happy New Year, Cat." The endless blues of Tommy Shelby's eyes stared at her, before he turned and disappeared among the crowd.

Most assuredly, it was an interesting start of a new decade.


	20. XVIII | BUSINESS AS USUAL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which he manages to rope her back in the business

**XVIII | BUSINESS AS USUAL**

** NEW YEAR'S EVE MELTED INTO **memories as the cold and wet January trickled into an even bleaker February. By the beginning of the Lent they said their goodbyes to Ada and her new family, embracing fully the life of a political fugitive, with all the dangers it possessed.

For all that she complained of the perilous line of work her brothers chose to make a living of, she proved to be no better when choosing a spouse. Not that Cat would openly remark that, as Ada seemed determined to fall-out with most of the members of her family, mainly Thomas.

Both equally stubborn in their beliefs, they had a row hours before she was intended to leave for London. It was a somber occasion, though Thomas didn't show his face at the station.

Caterina's days were still spent working at the tiny bookshop in Digbeth, sorting the yellowed books alphabetically one week, or by writer the next, depending on her mood.

And as each week passed it detoriated, much like the shop itself. The monotony of the job left her mind numb, unchallenged, her heart and soul yearning for any sort of amusement.

To put it lightly, she was withering away in there and made a point to complain every time she sat down with Polly for a cup of tea, or something stronger.

By April she developed a habit of coming over to Watery Lane on Tuesdays and Fridays, and a church service on Sundays, though Finn had to be persuaded by a sweet afterwards.

"I need an assistant." Thomas announced grandly, striding from the betting shop and into the households kitchen.

His cocky gaze was pointed directly at Cat as he threw down the legal ledger on the table between the two woman, almost knocking the porcelain kettle off of it.

"Do I look like your bloody paper handler?" By the force with which she slammed down the cup onto its saucer, it was miracle it didn't snap in two.

The man in question leaned on the dishware cabinet, striking a match with his stealthy fingers. "No, you look pretty and know finances."

It was Polly's turn to butt in. "He's not wrong." She gave her a one over, pressing the remnants of her cigarette in the crystal ashtray.

"_Thank you_, Pol." Cat stressed sarcastically, turning back to Thomas. It was the first they'd spoken in months, besides stealing glances if their paths crossed at the Watery Lane or The Garrison, and his sudden need of favours from her left her confused.

"Worcester is on Tuesday." He puffed out some smoke, fishing out some bills out of his pocket, letting them fall into Caterina's lap.

"Buy yourself something pretty."

Burning rage hissed through her body, eyes narrowing into a cold glare shooting right through the dark haired man leaning on the cabinet. "Excuse me, do I look like a whore to you? I don't need your money!"

_How dare he come sauntering in, demanding a favour and proceed to insult her? The nerve of that insufferable man! _

"It's a revealing blouse." His eyes sauntered briefly downwards and onto her cleavage covered by a pale blue button up blouse that perfectly cupped her curves.

Her cheeks blossomed red, some of anger some of embarrassment.

Thomas pushed himself from where he leaned and strode upstairs, sensing the fury he would soon be a victim of. It took her a moment to compose her baring only to bolt after him, brandishing the unfortunate wad of money.

"_Oi!_ Thomas Shelby you utter bastard-" A colourful string of Italian curses followed, sound of feet running up the wooden staircase and several doors slamming.

Now left alone in the quaint kitchen as the clock struck late afternoon, Polly Gray placed another sugar cube in her tea, satisfied.

_Children_.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Tommy's Bentley roared over the country roads, breaking the tranquility of hills and plains surrounding Bromsgrove and Wychbold, Rashwood and Droitwich. Winter had already melted into spring, the greenery of English countryside turning vibrantly lush, dotted with fragile white and yellow buds, their heads peaking innocently out of the grass.

Stretching her legs from the long drive, she took a moment to admire the fuss and excitement sparking at every corner of racetrack. Well dressed gentlemen and ladies in their intricate headdresses exited their vehicles manned by immaculately dressed chauffeurs.

But while the posh guests entered by the main, grand entrance, most of them following into owners boxes for the best possible view of their property, the common folk that could afford a spot on the stands or over by the fence crowded at the two smaller entrances.

"It's been too fuckin' long." Caterina sighed, fixing her wide brimmed hat in the Bentleys wing mirror. Thomas offered his hand to her in a manner of a well-bread gentleman, the two making way across the gravel covered parking lot.

He certainly looked the part of an elegant businessman, in his sharp new suit and a shiny silver chain of the pocket watch glinting in the sun. The only remainder of Small Heath was his flat cap, the sliver glint of a blade bringing him a familiar comfort.

All around the track, every corner was littered with bookies shouting out today's odds, attracting all sorts of men and women, young and old, willing to take their chance for some luck and a couple of pounds.

The Shelby Company's pitches dominated among the other lesser ones, the lines of people shouldering each other to place their bets.

They were stopped at the entrance by a portly but pleasant man who was obviously acquainted with Thomas. "Mister Shelby, an honour to have you here! Please, please follow me to the owners box."

His newest horse, _Major _, was set to have a debut here at Worcester and both Tommy and Cat were eager to see the lovely horse Curly had trained for the past few months in action.

The man then turned to Cat, kissing her hand, and then throwing a suggestive wink in Tommy's direction. "Oh my what a beauty you have here! And what is your name sweetheart?"

"He most certainly doesn't have me. Caterina Cardinale." She placed her hand forward for a firm handshake, revelling in the way colour drained from the man's face. Even after everything, the Clarke name opened every door and made every Englishman's heart race a bit stronger.

"You missed it."

Cat flashed the smirking man a withering glare. "Did not."

"You enjoyed it." His deep chuckle resonated through his chest, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling at her expense.

"Stop it Tommy." She scolded, though there was no malice in her reprimand.

"Admit that you missed being the most powerful person in the room." He paused, waiting for her reaction.

"That job is beneath you."

"Said the bookmaker to a former gang leader." She retorted as quickly as he said it.

"Kate, I mean it. One week more and you'll shoot up the regulars." His hand at the small of her back guided her to their respective seats, leaving a searing spot once he removed it.

He leaned in to the right.

"The thrill of it. Paper checks, coins, wads of money going over your hands." His lips were dangerously close to her ear and she could feel his warm breath down her exposed neck.

"Protection from your father."

The Italian scoffed slightly, sitting up straighter in her seat. "I don't need you to protect me. I'm a big girl."

"I know, but think it over. Working for me."

She bit her lip, considering the offer. "That's bloody nepotism Shelby."

"I need someone good with money, finances, someone experienced in this legal business." He listed, and she knew he was using his persuasive voice to worm the idea into her head.

"I'll hit you." She batted her eyelashes at him, the saccharine of her smile not mirroring the intentions.

"And someone to antagonise Sabini in the future."

Cat paused for a moment, mulling over his words. "Well, if you let me put a bullet through him, we can talk business."  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


"Do you bet, Mr Shelby?" Lord Apswych asked, stretching over the seats, a glass of scotch firmly in his hand.

"Not while working."

"Would you place a wager with me, Miss Cardinale?" Spoke the woman that must be Lady Apswych - at least twenty years younger than her husband and a permanently sour expression upon her lips. Her artificial smile revealed her obvious intentions and more importantly, what she thought about the two of them.

"Why I'd be delighted, Madam." Caterina replied, throwing the woman her best smile.

"Two hundred pounds on _Misty Eve_."

One of the men in their entourage nodded in appreciation, twirling his copper moustache.  
"A fine horse, bread by the Carleton's. You see, the husband of the-"

"Why good sir, let me finish. I say she'll come last today. What say you?" A mischievous smirk played in the corner of her lips, challenging the people around her.

It caused an uproar of disagreement from the other occupants of the box. "Absolute madness!"

"Preposterous!"

"It's insulting even to suggest.."

"Then you would place a different bet on your name?" Cat asked innocently, wide eyes blinking at Lord Apswych, causing him to splutter and cough for a moment.

"Three hundred on _Misty Eve_ for the first place."

"I say _Green Mile_, two hundred pounds!" One other man piped in.

"Good luck gentlemen." With another charming smile she picked up her binoculars, focusing on the race just about to begin.

The stands held their breath as the blank pistol announced the start and horses bolted from their paddocks and down the track.

_Misty Eve_ took the lead in the first part, followed by _Lucky Dawn_ and _Major_. _Green Mile_ was not even in the first five. Cat followed their movements eagerly as they entered the second half, the tide soon turning unexpectedly. _Misty Eve _slowed down, other horses quick to catch up with her and leave her behind in the dust.

Cat's knuckles turned white from the grip she had on the binoculars, springing from her seat once the contestants passed the finish line.

A wide smirk flooded her features — just as she predicted, _Misty Eve_ came in last, shocking the crowds around the track. Tommy's horse, _Major_ debuted almost perfectly, with a third place.

"My my, it seems today is my lucky day. I take checks or paper bills, but it is also negotiable in diamonds and other jewellery." Cat let her eyes linger on Lady Apswych's emerald necklace on purpose before linking her arm with Thomas.

She could sense he was pleased with the outcome of the race by the way her stood straighter, walked a little grander to the main hall where they booked a table for a drink and a bite to eat.

Worcester was not a bigger deal than Cheltenham, but still no expense was spared; flags and colourful ribbons livened up the grand hall, and an orchestra preformed in the for corner of the room.

"I want to dance." She announced not even a moment after they sat down. Perhaps she was still drunk on her victory, head far off in clouds of delusion, but she was beyond eager to dance after so long.

She turned to Tommy with a pair of pleading eyes.

"You've got plenty of options." He nodded slightly to where the friendly aristocracy from the owner's box heatedly argued over canapés and caviar. She scrunched her nose in distaste — caviar was not that tasty anyway.

"God forbid Tommy Shelby has _fun_." The challenging tone of her voice persuaded him to get up with a mocking sigh, offering his hand.

As he led her to the dance floor, he let his eyes wander around the room, taking every detail in. A sense of deja-vu overcame him, remembering the last time he held her so close. "This is just Worcester though."

"A few months ago we dreamed of this." Her brow furrowed as they spun around the room.

"You're always ten paces ahead. I know that look; calculations, details, ideas. It's a bloody war machine in there." She poked his temple playfully only for her fingers to be swatted away.

"Why remain where you are when there's still room for improvement?" He challenged, and she had to admit he was right.

"Establish yourself firmly here first. Those grey haired fossils don't respect you — yet. This little show we put up today was just the beginning. They still see you as an up-jumped racketeer, not a proper businessman."

Thomas scoffed half-heartedly. "I don't need their respect, I need their money and fear."

"Fear produces rebellion and that's the last thing you need. Play your act as a gentleman risen up from the poverty, the chivalrous war veteran, whatever you like. You'll polish your manners for when you talk with these relics, too."

"And you'll obviously need me." She concluded in the end, mustering all her confidence.

It was his turn to raise his brow in question. "Oh really?

Neither of them noticed the way they left no room between themselves as they dance, nor did the seem to care. His left hand pressed against her waist, almost possessively holding onto the woman in his arms.

"Well, someone has to keep your uncouth manners in order." She traced the outline of the lapel of his suit with her right hand, trying not to make contact with the hypnotic blue eyes boring into the side of her head.

"Is it a deal, Kate Cardinale?" His voice lowered, almost persuasively so for her to meet his eyes with a determined look.

"A deal, Tommy Shelby."  
  



	21. XIX | NO REST FOR THE WICKED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the wheels of expansion are set in motion

**XIX | ** **NO REST FOR THE WICKED**

**BIRMINGHAM, 1921.**   
  
  
  


** FREDDIE THORNE DIED** on a bleak and somber winter day, adequately mirroring the sullen air hanging over the people assembled in St. Andrew's graveyard to put him to rest.

Caterina clutched the flower wreath in her hands closer to her chest, the smell of fresh lilies and roses sharp and nauseating for her empty stomach. It was her first funeral since mother, though death became a close companion of hers in the years that followed.

She did not have the privilege to bury her brother, like many other sisters, mothers, wives and daughters of the war-drained countries. And what _would_ she possibly lower in the ground; the yellowing paper of the telegram, two lines of uniformed condolences from his commanding officer saying how bravely he fought for His King and the Country? How she should be proud of the sacrifice he made for the people of Britain, for _the greater cause._

She cared not for the King sitting on his throne of blood, and Britain might as well burn to the ground for all she cared; all she wanted was her brother to come home and spin her around in the yard as he used to, only for both of them to fall on the grass laughing.

No grave to lay down his bones, no cross or stone to cover it, somewhere in the flooded fields of Gallipoli.

"I promised my friend, Freddie Thorne, that I'd say a few words over his grave if he should pass before me. I made this promise before he became by brother-in-law, when we were in France, fighting for the King..."

Thomas was talking over the open grave, reciting a poem of sort that held a sentimental value to the Flanders boys. She could hardly concentrate on the words he spoke, instead, her eyes fixed on the crumbling pile of soil by the hole, ready to be poured over the casket. _In the end, rich or poor, young or old, we all end the same; with a heap of dirt above us. _

Forcing herself to look away, Cat couldn't help her eyes from wandering to the woman standing next to her, holding her child as if it was her lifeline.

After all the horrors of France he had gone through, it was pestilence that dealt the final blow to sergeant Thorne, a quiet murdered that crawled into their home not even two nights ago, claiming the man's last breath by the next sunrise. His body had barely gotten cold by the time they hauled the casket on the next train to Birmingham for the funeral.

Her heart weeped even if her eyes did not, for Ada and her godson. Though two years and a significant geographical distance separated them, the only Shelby girl was the closest thing she had to a real sister.

She reckoned it was unlikely Ada would ever remarry — the bond she had with Freddie was something Cat had never witnessed, a pure sense of devotion no matter the circumstances and objections standing on their path.

It was a tragedy their time was cut short after only two years, instead of a lifetime.

When the casket was lowered down and cowered with moist clumps of soil, and the short sermon over with, Ada let out a sigh of relief. "I can't wait to get back to London."

Cat pushed her gloved hands into the pockets of her coat, trying to regain some sense of warmth in them, though she couldn't help but to be caught off guard by Ada's statement.

"You're leaving immediately? But I thought-I was hoping I could see you and Karl for a few more days." Cat wondered, pursing her lips once one of John's children started crying again — though she could _hardly_ call it crying, it was worse than a pig heading for slaughter.

"You can always come south. I can't stay here for another minute, the stench of capitalism is choking me." Ada huffed, disgusted, balancing Karl on her hip.

She was just about to deny it — though it was very plainly the opposite — when Thomas walked over to them.

"Ada. I want to talk."

There was an immediate change in Ada's posture, the widow's shoulders tensing and the frown on her face deepening slightly.

"Here give him to me." Cat reached forward, taking Karl into her arms to give the siblings some privacy, and to distance herself from the conversation that would inevitably turn ugly in the matter of moments.

"How is the boy taking it?" Tommy asked, genuine concern lacing his voice.

"He's fine." Ada paused, keeping her eyes facing up front and not her brother. "When he asks I resort to saying 'heaven.'"

"We thought now Freddy's gone, you might come back to Birmingham." His words draw an incredulous smile on Ada's face.

Cat lowered the boy in her arms onto the grass, watching with mirth as he stumbled, enchanted by the new surroundings.

"Do you know how funny it is that you've got chauffeurs in uniform now?" Ada looked over to where suited men stood by several black cars, waiting to take them back to Birmingham.

"Just for the occasion..."

Scoffing, she pressed on. "Do you know how unfair it is you've got four Bugattis when half the country's starving."

Tommy gestured at the communists who were now folding one of the banners they carried during the funeral.

"So they've made you ashamed of us...' He chuckled mirthlessly, taking a deep breath of smoke before exhaling it.

"Sometimes when I think how I used to be, it makes me embarrassed." A pang of hurt bolted through Cat's heart at Ada's words, and she couldn't help but to turn towards them.

"You liked it _then_." The drinking, the boys, the life of freedom and indulgence, excessive spending and above all, friendship.

"I've changed."

The words hang between them. Tommy doesn't show it but deep down he is profoundly hurt by the word.

It was then Aunt Polly showed up, just in time to peel Karl away from stealing flowers from some woman's grave.

"I caught him trying to pinch flowers off a grave." Passing him to his mother, she looked between the three adults locked in a silent standoff.

"Is she coming home?" Though the question was directed at Tommy, it was Ada who answered her, taking Karl off her hands.

"I'm going home." Ada stated, her Shelby temper slowly seeping onto the surface.

"Two years ago it was you who begged me to come home. Do I have to do the same now?" Cat raised her brow expectantly, trying desperately to understand what still tied her to London, and not the place she called home for the first twenty years of her life.

"It's all right, love. We make Ada embarrassed." Thomas bit back, stepping closer to the dark haired woman.

"That's not what I said..." Ada snapped, surprised by the amount of offence Tommy felt from her words. It was no secret that Ada now favoured a more liberal lifestyle comparing to the remainder of her family, and she thought that perhaps they would leave her alone after more than two years of defiant opposition.

"There's another reason we want you home." Tommy continued, glancing over Adas shoulder towards Polly, watching their exchange like a hawk. "We're planning an expansion."

Caterina closed her eyes in exasperation. The conversation had already gone to crap, but this was just adding the fuel to the fire. A _wildfire_, judging by the blazing look in the young mothers eyes.

Ada had always been a smart one, and it did not take her long to process the meaning behind his words. "Oh Tommy..."

"I'm taking premises in London," he continued, disregarding the revulsion written over his sisters face.

"Tommy, it's a funeral, business can wait..." Polly cut in, flashing Tommy a sharp look that could be only understood as_ bite your tongue. _The dark haired man ignored his aunts protests, throwing his spent cigarette aside.

"If Ada was sobbing, I'd wait. But she's not."

Disregarding her withering glare, Tommy continued his elaboration.

"The expansion means it will be dangerous to be a Shelby in London for a while..." She did not let him finish the sentence.

"Yeah, well, I'm not a Shelby anymore." Ada crossed her arms across her chest, jutting her chin in a show of defiance, just as she did when they were younger.

She then turned to Cat. "_You_ are one though. Watch your back else they'll rot you to the bone." The widow snapped bitterly, looking at her up and down.

Cat now dressed in an expensive black coat that reached down to her knees, and a black lace dress could be seen underneath it. An elegant headpiece adorned her head, completed by a black veil that partially covered her face. It did not, however, manage to hide the flabbergasted expression that appeared on her face following Adas venomous remark.

"_Ada_! What happened to you?"

Ignoring the three of them, Ada cut the conversation short by abruptly walking away, making a point of brushing against Polly shoulder as she passed her by.

"Oh and Ada, they're not Bugattis, they're Daimlers. Much more expensive." Thomas called after her, more out of spite than out of true malice.

Cat slapped him arm with as much force as she could muster, but it had no real impact on the immovable man. "You just _had_ to didn't you?"

"I told you to let me do it." Polly scolded him, though it was far too late to make amends for his actions now. He only adjusted the collar of his coat, reaching for the packet of cigarettes in his inner pocket, out of habit passing one along to Cat.

He struck the match easily to light their smokes, resting against the tall gravestone next to him.

"It'll be all right. I'll have some men watch her house until the danger's passed." In the distance Ada joined the group of men and women carrying red flags, looking relieved and perfectly content by their company. Almost as she if belonged with them.

Caterina was assured it hurt more than a bullet wound.

With one last look towards Ada and her communists, Tommy placed his hand on the small of Cat's back, steering her to where John and Arthur were standing, the former visibly distressed by the ruckus his flock of children were causing by chasing each other around the graveyard and the latter enjoying every second of it.

Polly watched all her sisters children, an unsettling dread filling the pit of her stomach. She hadn't felt it for a while now, the unpleasant trepidation caused by her gypsy foresight. By the looks of it, there was still no rest for the Shelby's.

_"'Until the danger's passed.'" _She mimicked, scoffing at the fanciful prospect. "That'll be the bloody day."

One of the younger Blinders strode their way with a quick step and a worried frown on his face. Though she could not hear what he said from where she stood, Polly did see the dark shadow falling over Tommys face.

In the next moment his hand was wrapped around Caterina's upper arm, the two rushing to where his Daimler was parked by the side of the road.

"What do you mean _blown up?_" Cat's voice echoed in the emptying graveyard, followed by a commotion as they all scrambled into their respective vehicles.

And just like that, the wheels were set in motion.

* * *

Wisps of smoke still rose from the remains of what was one The Garrison, the charred structure emanating a nauseating smell of wet lumber and decay.

As if it could not possibly go worse, a light drizzle of rain started to pour from the skies, drenching both the crowd of pedestrians that gathered to watch the ongoing investigation and the newly arrived.

For a dreaded moment, as she stepped into the cataclysmic scene, Cat wondered if this could be an act of war from the Italian faction of the city. It was well over a year now since her fallout with her father and brother, and she couldn't help but to glance over her shoulder every once in a while for a potential threat or delayed vengeance.

Little news came from _Nechells_ these days; Roberto was forced to make amends with Vincente Changretta, reluctantly signing him over _Bistro Napoletano, _one of the family's most prized properties, as a means of apology for the caused offence.

Several other properties were closed down for good, including her beloved _gelatteria__'s_, her flats sold or rented to new tenants. Everything that had her mark, a piece of her, destroyed and erased. As if she never walked the streets of Birmingham at all.

But the people remembered, and they would not forget as long as she lived.

"Oh God, Arthur will be heartbroken." She was sure Arthur loved very few things in his life the way he loved his pub. Tiny pieces of shattered glass covered the ground, the trio making sure not to step on any of the bigger, hazardous shards.

"It happened at, uh, exactly 7 a.m." Sergeant Moss reported, glancing ever so slightly at Tommys still figure assessing the rubble. There was rage bubbling in him, they were all aware of it, and the way his lips formed a tight line, unspeaking, unsettled them.

"Nobody saw anything. Our patrols were not in the area."

In front of the entrance still stood the remains of two prams that must have contained the explosive used to blow up the pub, the metal now grotesquely misshapen and bent.

Both women couldn't help but to satisfy their curiosity and trekked further into the rubble, careful not to step on any of the glass or charred wood. Indeed, their curiosity brought fruit as Cat noticed peculiar bits littering the debris in front of the ruin.

"These are confetti. And green at that." She waved Polly over to where she stood, passing along a handful for her inspection.

Several feet behind them Moss called after them as the two stepped into the unstable structure. "Miss, Madam, the structure had not yet been declared safe!"

Tommy stepped forward to look at it, but not before he reached into his coat jacket and handing Moss a wad of money for his silence. It did not take long even for the staunchest of the policemen to bow down to Thomas Shelby.

A man could have his opinions and convictions, but at the end of the day he also had a family to provide for.

"That's morbid. I don't like this Tommy." She showed him her hand, holding pieces of shredded paper, some carbonised by the recent flames but most intact and vividly green.

Tommy took a pinch of charred confetti, examining it with a somber expression. He turned to Moss, lacking the patience to deal with the copper, be him on their payroll or not.

"Thank you. We'll be alright now."

The sergeant touched his cap, then turned and headed toward his car, not looking back for a moment. The weight of the guilt he felt still crushed his soul as a Sisyphean boulder, but he did not ask any more questions.

Beyond the rope that separated the crime scene and the world, children played with pieces of wood that were left scattered all around, their laughs and cries echoing between the rows of houses surrounding them.

Thomas crouched down, holding the tiny pieces of paper in his hand. The cogs around his head were turning like a steam engine, restless, furious.

"Tommy, what?" Cat crossed her arms, watching as he got up from the ground, eyes scanning all that was in front of him.

"I think this was somebody's way of inviting us to a wedding." Was all he said before turning his back to them and leaving.

"Who? Tommy, who did this to us?"

Cat sighed, moving closer to Polly. "Well, they're green. I can count some options." The women remained in the debris, waiting for the rest of the family that would undoubtedly rush over to the scene soon enough.

Tommy continued to disappear in the rising fog until he was no more than a speck in the murky sea of smog, his hear and mind most likely set on some sort of reckless path of vendetta Polly and Cat would never approve of.

It would always be that way, Caterina reckoned, as Polly and her made way towards the charred structure, to see if there was anything worth to be recovered from the ruin.

Light drizzle turned into pouring rain, the morning skies turning dark and sinister matching the prospect of uncertain future hanging above them like an executioner.


	22. XX | WINDS OF CHANGE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which they talk of expansions

**XX | WINDS OF CHANGE **

  
** IN THE DARK LIT OFFICE** of Shelby Company Limited, Caterina waited for Thomas to return from his lonely crusade to God-knows-where.

Last rays of the days sun peaked from behind the curtains and fell on the dark oak furniture filling the room. It was easy to fall back and disappear behind the massive wooden desk and the impressive set of Victorian chairs.

The next door to the right was her own office, as the brass plate on them suggested;

** _Caterina Cardinale_ **   
** _Chief of Staff _ **

Down the hallway lined up desks of a few female employees, used mostly for accounting work concerning Tommy's growing legal side of the business.

Flipping through a copy of yesterday's Times she found neatly folded on the desk, Cat let her eyes wonder over every detail of the office.

In the bookcase there was a complete set of every edition of 'Harmsworth's Popular Science,' a volume of modern encyclopaedias. Tommy took her advice on educating himself to heart, though he would never admit it. It was obvious by the way he used long words and formulated complex sentences

Photographs pepper the walls, mostly they of winning enclosures, with smiling owners and jockeys. _'Aintree, second place, 1920'._ The owner, Tommy and her side by side, both grinning ecstatically.

There are more framed photographs on the desk; most of Tommy with various minor dignitaries at small race meetings. She takes one in an engraved silver frame.

_'With Lord Croft at Ascot.'_ She is dutifully standing on his right, his hand tucked around her waist, and a dazzling smile at the photographer.

If someone were to look at those photographs, they'd no doubt mistaken her for something more than a business partner. Lowering the frame, she banished the traitorous thoughts from her head.

The rattling of keys stirs her from her daydreaming, as Thomas opened the door to the office. He's far from surprised to see her there in his chair, especially since he bolted from the crime scene with no explanation.

Caterina watches patiently as he took off his coat and cap, running his hand through the sharply cut hair. The tense set of his shoulders reveals more than he would like to admit. Their eye contact remains unbroken as she stands up from the desk and he edges towards it.

"Anything to tell me?"

She busies herself with pouring two glasses of whiskey from the lovely crystal decanter he received last Christmas.

"No." He replied shortly, settling behind the heavy oak desk.

"Liar."

Both glasses remain in her hands, the rings on her fingers scraping against the crystal from the tight grip. Hands on the desk, Tommy leaned in to stare her down. There were things he craved for now, in this tense moment and he desperately needed the alcohol to wash the thoughts away.

His voice came out unintentionally hoarse. "I need that drink."

"No idea what you're on about, Shelby." The Italian feigned innocence, downing both of their drinks with a quick motion.

"It's some good fuckin' whiskey. I do hope it's not _Irish_."

By the fire in her eyes he realised she had already connected the dots concerning the unfortunate destruction of The Garrison. With a sigh he leaned back into the leather chair, dragging a hand over his tired eyes.

"I need to call Moss. Family meeting at nine tonight."

She takes pity on him, going for a refill of the drinks and placing one in front of him. "Right and then you'll tell me."

"It's my business, and I don't intend to involve you in such matter." He deflects stubbornly.

"Because you don't trust me?" Her mind couldn't help but reminisce of a certain blonde she called her friend, whose shadow still lingered in the back of her mind.

"_Because_ I don't want you to get hurt." He raised his voice, unintentionally. It was the easier way to say she was the only person her fully trusted, and the one he felt completely undeserving of.

"I'll pull it out of you, even if I have to bring in the big guns." It was a challenge, and the one she'd gladly take up. Setting her glass down she marched out of the office, heels clacking against the floorboards as she made her abrupt exit.

Now left alone to his thoughts, Tommy's eyes fixated on one of the photographs on the desk; a photo of a family of three boys and a girl with their mother. It was taken one spring morning, only days before the Easter. Tommy, Arthur, John and Ada posed seriously, pretending to be professional and smart, with a smiling dark-haired woman with her arms wrapped around them. 

In the inner corner of the frame there's one more photograph, of the length of a thumb, like the ones used to put into a medallion or passport.

Tommy's electric eyes drank in the smiling face of the woman he loved from the photograph.

Then, he made his choice and grabbed the phone, dialling Moss.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


Though almost two years had passed since the Shelby family extended their premises from their humble betting shop, the family meetings still commenced in the same room, around the same table. The only difference was the increased number of participants and the sleek black piano Tommy insisted on installing in the corner of the room.

She was convinced it would bring a dose of professionalism and _posh_ into the betting establishment.

Buying off the next two houses in the Watery Lane, the shop was extended, polished up and able to house a new safe room and offices, as well as more space for the bookies and the customers to wait to place their bets.

"Where the bloody hell is Tommy?" It's John that breaks the silence settled between the family members, checking his watch for what had to be the tenth time in two minutes.

He stood near the stairs where Esme sat, though not a blood member of the family she earned that place by loyalty and mothering one of John's children.

"He's on his way." Jumping to his feet, Arthur set off towards the crates stacked by the fireplace, his heavy footsteps echoing through the room.

Behind his back John and Polly exchange both looks of concern and amusement. For the last few months Arthur had become a slight cause for concern. He spent his days in the boxing ring, his mood swinging like a pendulum clock, and temper mirroring the one of a tempest.

"While we're waiting..." He turned with a grin and set the box full of whiskey bottles heavily on the table, passing them around the room.

" ...This is all the stock that's left from the explosion. So..."

Bottles are opened. Even Finn, the newest member of the meeting gets his hands on one of the bottles, two swigs of the amber liquid already making him feel the warmth seeping to his head.

A drag of whiskey and his wife's urging look prompts John to hesitantly get up on his feet. He cleared his throat anxiously, trying to get the full attention of the raucous room.

"Before Tommy gets here, I think we should get some things sorted out between the rest of us."

"Which means it's not something Tommy approves, am I right?" Nobody had heard Caterina enter through the back, hands on her hips and looking at John expectantly. With a shake of her head, striding past the stairs to take a seat next to the oldest Shelby in the room.

As soon as she sat, Arthur passed her a bottle with a look that read you'll need this. To her left young Finn was turning red in the face but still kept pouring another glass of the liquor. Cat noticed that and snatched the bottle away before he could overdo it, sending the fourteen year old a stern, motherly look.

"Yeah. I want to know. When did we take a vote on this expansion South?" There's anger lacing his tone now, demanding an explanation from the room.

"If you have anything to say, you wait for Tommy."

"Yeah, at least have the balls to say it in his face." Cat gave him a tight lipped smile as a warning.

Arthur raised the bottle in her direction. "Amen sister."

"I see all the books. Legal and off track. Stuff you lot don't see." He corrected himself once he noticed Cat's glare. "Well, most of you. In the past year, the Shelby Company Limited has been making a hundred and fifty pounds...a day."

The room was happy to ignore John before but the figures he announced shocked them into silence.

"A fucking day. Sometimes more. So why are we changing things?"

"It's called improvement. Growth." Cat pipped up drily, making Arthur chuckle slightly, but no-one else.

With one look she noticed Polly actually listened to what John had to say, if not shared the sentiment.

"Polly, look what's happened already..." Deliberately, John continued while looking at his aunt. If he could persuade her to talk sense into Thomas they could still save their heads. "We haven't even set foot in London yet and they've already blown up our fucking pub."

Not in the mood to listen to unnecessary whining, Cat leaned on the table, one hand propping her chin up as her eyes scanned around the room. The paintings she ordered a few months ago came recently, and now the room seemed much more livelier. They were all reproductions of their winning horses, with a little gold label underneath it featuring the date, name of the horse and the derby they won. 

"You've got to take a risk once in a while." Arthur is swigging whisky at an impressive rate, no obvious signs on inebriations at all.

"Anyway, who says it was the cockneys?" He added.

"Who else?" It was Esme that piped up, for the first time since she was allowed to sit at one of the family meetings.

"So you know who did it, do you?" Polly asked her, mockingly. Esme is defiant but sits down.

"I'm told only family are allowed to speak." Esme couldn't help but to cast an envious glance at Cat and her privileged spot next to the table. Then, all of a sudden..

"Everybody's allowed to speak." Deep baritone of Tommy's voice makes the heads turn in the direction of the door. No-one had noticed him looming on the shadows for last few minutes, listening to the tense complaints and bickering around the room. 

"On your feet Esme. Let's hear what you have to say." He moves from the door frame, stalking inside the room like a lion on the prowl.

Esme hesitate, looking to John for support, though she only got a nervous stammer.

Caterina smirked behind her glass of whiskey. Obviously the couple never thought they'd get this far with their complaints, perhaps only to light the fire of doubt in the minds of family members.

"I speak for our household." John tried to save at least a bit of his dignity. "So-"  
  


"Shelby Limited is a modern enterprise and believes in equal rights for women. We have our chief treasurer and chief of staff here, both women." He emphasised, gesturing at Polly and Cat. Then he turned back to his brother's wife. "On your feet Esme."

Tommy wandered deeper into the room, moving around the table only to lean on the back of Caterina's chair.

Esme's fazed only for a second, rising from her place on the stairs. There's a wild sense of confidence in her eye, gypsy blood in her veins giving her heart the courage and tongue the freedom.

"I am not a blood member of this family..." She began, careful not to glance into Cat's direction.

It was no secret that, despite their closeness and friendship, Esme envied Cat for her spot at the table though she was neither a blood relation or a spouse. And still, she had a prominent position in the company and was able to express her thoughts and plans to the inner circle.

There's a particular, ornate way in which Esme spoke; like a character dropped from a novel, and yet mixed with the strong Roman burr all the Lee's seemed to have in common.

"But perhaps indeed because I am not a family member I can see things in a different light..."

"So I will get to my point."

"That would be nice." Polly snarked, eliciting a snort from Cat. Tommy's hand slipped down to her shoulder, squeezing it in a _don't be rude_ manner of warning.

"As my husband said, Shelby Company Limited is now very successful. But London.." She paused, looking at Tommy.

"I have kin in Shepherds Bush and Portobello. It's more like wars between armies down there. And the coppers fight side-by-side with them. And there are foreigners of every description and the use of bombs is the least of it." Esme said. "I have a child. Blessed with the Shelby family good looks. I want John to see him grow up. I want us to someday live somewhere with fresh air and trees. And keep chickens or something. But London is just smoke and trouble Thomas."

'_Thomas_'? Polly mouthed to Cat incredulously, as her eyes swept over the sympathetic room. The other woman simply rolled her eyes at the play acting out in front of her, taking another drag of her cigarette.

With one last winning look towards Thomas, Esme concluded her little monologue and set back down on the stairs, straightening her skirt. "That's all I have to say."

There's a silence in the room, some holding back giggles, some shooting glances towards Tommy's passive face.

"That was a lot of words, Tommy. Have a drink to wash them down?" Arthur suggested cheekily, offering the bottle to Tommy. Tommy takes it to the window. He unscrews the cork and takes a swig.

"First of all, the bang in the pub was nothing to do with London..." He began, taking a swig of his drink. A swarm of questions flooded the room but Tommy raised his hand, silencing them effectively.

"The bang is something I'm dealing with on my own."

"_Of course_ you are." Caterina whispered, rolling her eyes in annoyance.

He straightens a photograph of the King then turns. We might notice that Tommy has the use of longer words these days and has the diction of a man that reads...

"And we have nothing to fear from the proposed business expansion. So long as we stick together. And after the first few weeks nine-tenths of what we do down in London will be legal."

He crossed the room to clap Arthur's shoulder in support. "The other tenth is in good hands."

"That's right." He nodded proudly.

John's crestfallen face revealed his disappointment, and for a moment he doubted if perhaps Tommy gave Arthur the control over the old business because of his act of defiance.

"There are many in this room who have expressed their reservations." His eyes were on Polly as he stalked the room, the woman refusing to meet his persistent stare.

"There are some of you who welcome these new advancements with open arms."

It was Cat's turn to look smug. Unbeknownst to anyone other than Thomas himself, no-one knew it was actually her that suggested expansion Southwards.

"And any of you who want no part of the future of this company are free to walk out the door. Right now." Tommy offered a sharp smile to John and Esme, both staying completely silent. "Go and raise your chickens."

He then turned to the rest of the room, scanning it for hesitance, staring them down.

"But those of you with ambition? The expansion process begins tomorrow."

With one last swig of his whiskey, he slammed the bottle back on the table and disappeared through the back room. On her right, Polly's mouth fell open in shock before bolting after her nephew. Mildly pleased, Caterina was hot on her heels.

_"Tomorrow?!"_

"I'm company treasurer, you should speak to me first." Polly reminded him, the two following him to the safe room of the betting shop. "It's Newmarket tomorrow, third busiest day of the year."

"We have 18 staff." Tommy reminded her.

Polly drew out a chair, sitting down. "Who you trust with 200 quid takings?"

Thomas stopped with unsuccessful combination cracking, glancing first at Polly who was lighting one of her long, black cigarettes, then Caterina. "I trust Cat to hire reliable and trustworthy."

"Oh, I changed the combination." Polly added nonchalantly, inspecting her nails with a smug smile on her face.

Taking his hands off the safe, he turned to Cat with a raised brow. "Polly's the big guns?"

"I'm very persuasive when I want to be." Cat smirked as Polly commenced her interrogation.

"Who did you meet at the Black Lion?"

"Give me the combination Pol." Tommy urged his aunt impatiently, but it was obvious she would not budge.

"You could've presented it with a bit more tact and not make a complete fool out of your brother." Caterina reprimanded him. For as long as she had known him, she was aware of John's confidence issues; he was neither as clever as Tommy or as strong as Arthur, and had confided in her once that he always felt overlooked, excluded.

"I know how to deal with John" He assured her, one hand running through his short hair. "Never should've gotten him a gypsy wife, putting wild ideas in his thick skull."

"She's not all that bad. A bit annoying but them's wives." She turned to Polly, trying to ease the woman's nerves if possible. "London is a dangerous game to play, yes, but we've been gambling with our lives for years now haven't we? And this set of cards looks very promising."

Thomas nodded in agreement. "What happened to the pub was Irish business. We're in a situation where, for everyone's safety, it's best for some things to remain undisclosed."

"Why tomorrow?" Polly spoke up, tapping her nails against the waxed surface of the table.

"It's simple really — tomorrow's Newmarket. All the London bosses will be at the races, far enough from the city so we can strike." Cat explained, leaning her back on the cold metal of safe doors.

"We take the opportunity to show our hand. The Italian gangs and Jewish gangs have been at war in London for six months, and The Jews have been having the worst of it. They need allies. "

"Yeah but we don't." Polly argued.

"We need a foothold at the southern end of the Grand Union. The Jews control Camden Town. We go down tomorrow when it's quiet and we leave our message." Tommy added. "If Alfie Solomons and his Camden boys come to us, we'll negotiate the use of a secure bonded warehouse and then our legal activities in London can begin."

"Thankfully, I have experience in both expanding legal business and dealing with dangerous gangsters." Cat and Tommy exchanged a barely noticeable smile.

Cat was thrilled to finally be able to use her skills in managing legal work she acquired over the course of years on the board of Cardinale Imports. It would feel good to, in a way, return Tommy the favour of employing her, providing a proper roof over her head, a proper family — with all its dysfunctions — she always wanted.

"Do you know, it was a fine speech you made in there, about this company believing in equal rights for women." Polly finally spoke up, a disappointed tone evident in her voice. "But when it comes to it, you don't listen to a word we say. Maybe you don't trust us."

"I do trust the two of you." Tommy defended himself. By the sharp glares he received from both it was more than obvious they weren't buying it.

"We'll be off to London tomorrow morning. You're in charge." He turned to Caterina.

Cat scoffed at his words, shaking her head. "Oh I'm coming. Polly does a fine job running the shop, anyway."

"A provocation." A look of realisation crossed his face, pleased with the cunning of the brunette in front of him. "Clever girl."

Trying to suppress the bubbling in her stomach at his words of endearment, Cat ducked her head slightly in order to conceal the redness of her cheeks with her dark tresses.

"That and a fuckin' damage control for you three idiots." Jabbing her manicured finger into his chest with a chuckle, Cat finally turned to the safe, putting in the numbers of the combination.

With a glazed look in her eyes and a sigh Polly watched the two she considered her own exchanging jabs as they counted the wads of money inside the company safe. Two years she watched them dance around each other and their obvious feelings, hurting each other and themselves in denying the evident tenderness they felt.

"Identical set of fools, you are." Polly whispered, though determined now more than ever to do everything in her power to bring the two the happiness they desperately needed.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	23. XXI | EAST OF EDEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which they raise a little hell

**XXI | EAST OF EDEN**

**ON SOME OCCASIONS**, Caterina Cardinale cursed Tommy Shelby's entire existence, and the morning of their departure for London was one of such.

While the lazy, morning sun was yet to emerge from behind the clouds, the said man barged into her room, throwing open the lacy curtains and demanding she presented herself in front of the house in an hour.

After having cursed his ancestors for producing such a _figlio di puttana_, Tommy was thrown out of the room narrowly dodging a heel heading straight for his head.

Not long after she accepted Tommys offer for a job at Shelby Company, Polly insisted on giving her Ada's old room at Watery Lane, a bit old and creaky but served its purpose just right.

It had been about time she got out of Lizzie's hair, for both her sake and the sake of her clients, though the two woman enjoyed each others company immensely and made their Thursday tea time a ritual.

Stepping out side and locking number 6. doors, she breathed in the crisp air, looking up and down the deserted street. Only Arthur stood waiting on the pavement.

"Whose clever idea was to take off so bloody early?"

Hearing her groggy grumbling, his head snapped in her direction, a wide grin spreading over his face.

"Kitty! You coming too?"

"Can't let you boys have all the fun." She smiled. Just as she said that Tommy turned the corner in his Fiat, the one he used for long distance driving, parking it in front of number 8, John and Esme's house.

"Aye why not, you can drink like a man." He agreed, slapping her shoulder for a good measure.

The two watched Tommy as he checked his watched, and once he counted the people on the pavement, leaned into the car and hooted the cars horn as loud as possible.

One of the windows on the house flew open and John appeared, still buttoning up his shirt.

"I'm coming!" He hollered, and they could hear the screams of rowdy children echoing through the house, out-voicing a desperate John trying to explain to them how _papa is going to be gone for only a day or two and no they can't go with him to bloody fuckin London. _

They would've laugh were they not irritated by the wait. Rummaging through his coat pocket Arthur took out a small glass bottle, the likes of which lined the walls of the chemists, and took a hearty swig. Both Tommy and Cat were confused with his action  
  


"Seven o'clock, twelve o'clock and ten if I'm still sober. It's to calm me down." He passed the bottle to Tommy for inspection, the man looking at the small letters on the label.

"Polly took me to the doctor." He sheepishly admitted, watching Tommy unscrew the top and sniff the pungent whiff of the syrup.

Tommy looked up at him with disapproval. "Same stuff they used to give us in the trenches to stop us wanking."

"Polly said I need it for my temper. It slows me down."

His brother nodded gently, and then very deliberately poured the contents of the bottle into the gutter, the thick and syrupy liquid slowly trickling into the abyss. Theres no hiding of shame on Arthurs face as he begrudgingly accepts Tommys decision.

"Some things Polly doesn't understand. I need you fast, not slow." The tone of his voice left no room for discussion.

The front door finally flew open, procuring a small cheer from Cat.

"She wouldn't let go of my fucking leg." John grumbled, half angry, half embarrassed his brothers witnessed his daily scuffle with Esme. They already seemed to have labeled him henpecked.

"You're sure it was your leg?"

"Did you leave her your balls, for safekeeping?" Cat smiled innocently.

"Oh fuck off." He drawled, facing Thomas once his shirt was finally buttoned up. "She's against this Tom. She's got opinions."

"Nothing wrong with opinions, John."

"Unless the opinion is shit." Sang Cat, putting out the but of her cigarette with the sole of her shoe and climbing on the backseat.

With a flip of his wrist Tommy threw the now empty bottle of medicine into the bin, the bottle crashing on impact.

They pull down the roof of the car, letting the first rays of spring warm them as the car sped through the city, completely disregarding the safety limit.

"The Peaky boys are going on fucking holiday!" Arthur hollered, a beer bottle in hand swinging so wildly that Tommy and John had drag him down.

"Oi you mad bastard! Sit down!" Caterina barked at the tall man, holding her hat with one hand to keep it from flying off mid drive as Tommy practically raced to the open road.

* * *

The rustling of golden bundles of wheat on the light breeze wormed a smile onto Caterina's face, for a moment transporting here somewhere far away. It also quite successfully blocked out the sound of boys pissing several feet away.

"You know what Tommy? Esme's bloody right. You can't beat the country."

"Shame we're with a car and not a horse. I can only imagine riding through these fields." She sighed dreamily. For all they worked with horses, she could hardly remember the last time she went out into the country and felt the wind flow through her hair.

"I want to live in the country as well." Arthur admitted, zipping up his pants, the three of them walking back to the car. "And I want to keep chickens."

Caterina leaned on the hood of the car, a cigarette lazily placed between her fingers. Midday sun kissed her face like a gentle lover, and she opened one eye to stare quizzically at the oldest Shelby. "What's with the bloody chickens?"

"Fucking chickens.." Tommy muttered disapprovingly. The business was thriving, on the brink of an expansion and all his brothers could think of is taking the easier road.

Sometimes he envied them, their privilege of thinking less and simply taking orders. It always fell onto him to pull the strings, put his neck on the chopping board to raise their family from the slums of Small Heath and into one of respect.

The Devil wouldn't let him rest at night, never mind settle for keeping chickens in the countryside, not while he breathed the poisoned air of Birmingham.

"My turn in the front." John called, heading for the passenger seat.

Cat slid the sunglasses down her nose to look at him in outrage. "No, it's not!"

"Yes it is."

"Bloody kids."

Tommy walked ahead to the booth of the car. It opened with an ominous creak and she spied an equally emotionless expression on his face.

"Arthur, John, come here."

It's unmistakably business in his tone and Arthur and John hesitated. Tommy produces three shovels and he offers one to Arthur. Arthur reacts and approaches. He looks inside the boot and John joins him...

Curiosity overruling her reason, Cat took a peak at the booth herself. A body of an unknown man is tied up in the back, his upper part visible and legs tied in a sack. Arthur staggered back in shock.

"Holy shit, Tommy." John whispered, turning to his older brother, now taking off and handing his suit jacket for Cat to hold, lest it got dirty while digging.

"Oh for fucks sake. Can we have one, just one outing without dead bodies?" The brunette complained.

Arthur and Cat crossed themselves more out of habit than of sudden religious epiphany.

"We need to bury him." Tommy pushed the shovels into his brothers hands, the two still rooted to the spot and staring at the dead body in the booth.

"Who the fuck is that?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask." He did not lie, in truth. All he knew was the man's name and the fact he was Irish.

Cat reached forward and flipped the dead mans collar on the other side. Just as she had presumed, a tiny pin in the shape of a lily was pinned to his shirt. "A Paddy. Nice work Thomas."

"It's Irish business, yes. I thought it best if I dealt with it on my own." Tommy slung his shovel over his shoulder.

"Come on, we did a thousand of these in France." Still, the boys hesitated.

"Grab his legs Arthur. John, grab his arms. That's an order."

John begrudgingly followed his brothers, a crestfallen expression on his face. He was looking forward to an outing with his brothers, and Cat, just to escape the madness of his children and wife. Just a day without changing nappies and hiding guns so the children couldn't find it, without Esme's bouts of jealousy and endless lines of numbers in the ledgers. "So we're not really going to London."

"Once we've buried him," Thomas promised. "The holiday begins."

Still leaning on the hood of Fiat again, keeping an alert eye on the road as the boys ventured deeper onto the field to dispose of the body.

"Right, I'll just wait here until you bury a dead body." Cat shook her head in disbelief, opting to rummage thorough her pockets for a pack of cigs. "A proper Shelby holiday. _Fuckin' hell._"

* * *

**ʟᴏɴᴅᴏɴ**   
  
  


There was a trouble on eight legs coming down the Charlotte Road, and it went by the name of Shelby.

As they neared the entrance to the Eden Club, the place they were supposed to have a drink and leave a message, Thomas checked on the rest of his entourage.

"You left your guns in the car, right?" Thomas threw a warning look to the rest of the company. Both brothers nodded but Cat feigned obliviousness, eyes flying everywhere so as not to make eye contact with him.

"Cat?"

"I'm not mad, I'm not going to pull a gun out in the middle of a club." She defended herself, shifting her dress slightly so it concealed the pistol hidden on her body. There was no way she would walk into Sabini's den unarmed, no matter what Tommy said.

It was a good thing indeed Tommy forbade his brothers to bring a weapon, because as soon as one of the doormen squeezed Arthur a little too hard while searching him for any unwanted object, the oldest Shelby brother reacted with a vicious snarl.

The doorman looked them up and down, mistrustful of their unusual appearance. "Where you boys and lady from?"

"From out of town."

"Say again?" He feigned not hearing them in hopes of catching their accents. A clever play, one Caterina was about to take advantage of.

Cat signalled the boys to let her speak, offering the doormen a rolled up pound note. "We've come from out of town. We heard this is the place to get _Tokyo_ and pick up women."

She makes no attempt to hide her accent, the Italian lilt seeping into her words and rolling down her tongue. It would buy them an entrance but she was more than aware the doorman would soon enough slip to bosses to alert them of an Italian woman in a company of three Brummies.

Once they were let through John turned to her, confused. "What the fuck is _Tokyo _?"

"You don't want to know." She concluded, patting his shoulder and stepping into another world entirely, one of wild, unhinged notes and no morals.

The women were another sort entirely — shocks of short, flappy dresses and sharp cut bobs, abundance of sequins and feathers spinning wildly until they blurred. The men, sharp and dressed to kill, with their eyelids painted in the same fashion as the women.

In the dark corners of the club they spot pretty girls pouring out white powder from their blue glass bottles, bending down to snort them and coming back up with dazed, euphoric expressions. _Tokyo_, the new drug on the market transformed the life of young elite, and if they're not snorting up the magic powder from their compact mirrors, they're fornicating behind the thick curtains around the room.

The booze was flowing like a golden waterfall. The air was thicker than smoke.

White girls and black men, white girls and Chinese men, Chinese girls and black men, black girls and white men. Never had they seen such diversity of races freely mingling.

They stopped on the threshold for a moment, taking in the wonders of the new, unknown world. Her blood drums in the new and exciting rhythm, bubbling, spurring her wish to simply sway in the wild manner of the skinny girls with glassy eyes.

"They call this Eden? More like Sodoma and Gomorra." Cat commented, watching as a man's pants were pulled down in the middle of a dance floor, his privates readily assaulted by another young man. It was a den of sin, for sure, and even the greatest sinners of Birmingham found themselves uncomfortable.

"What the bloody hell is that row?" Arthurs looked at the jazz band, made up entirely of black men, pumping out a frantic dance tune.

"It's what they call music these days." Said Tommy, heading for one of the empty tables on the lower level.

They would be blind not to notice the whispers and looks thrown at them as they walked, the people recognising them from the papers, the ominous stories circulating of a sinister gypsy gang turned businessmen. Of a woman with razor blades in her smile, vicious enough to turn her back on her own family and side with the devils.

Tommy signalled for the waiter, making sure to order in a loud and clear voice. "Irish whisky. Bottle."

"Fuck, half the Titanic are in here." Arthur whispered to his brothers as Tommy poured them each a drink.

Cat shifted slightly, hiding her mouth behind her full glass of whiskey. She nodded her head in the direction of well dressed men sitting at the bar, looking in their direction. "That's Darby Sabini's cousins."

John paled significantly. "Jesus Tommy, everybody in here is somebody..."

"Don't forget John, so are we." Cat kept his morale up. "If they've never heard of Peaky Blinders they sure as hell will after today."

"Just the lieutenants. Not the officers.." He reassured them, shoulders tense as he surveyed the people around them. He turned to Cat, leaning in slightly so she could hear him over the loud music.

"Still don't think it was smart of you to come here." Smiling at his protective tone, she sent him a confident smirk.

"I'm a big girl. Let Sabini know I've got the balls to piss on his territory."

Before they had the opportunity to drink their first glass, their table was approached by a finely dressed man with an anxious look on his face.

"Gentlemen, lady, there has been a mistake. I am afraid you will have to leave." He announced, though his tone was less than apologetic.

"We just bought a fucking bottle." Stated John, assertively.

The man pursed his lips, not appreciating having to explain the situation to them. "Some of the men here say they recognise you. From the racetracks in the north."

"Well, we don't recognise them." Tommy replied casually, downing his drink in one go.

"They say you have no business coming south of the line without prior agreement." The man continued, ignoring Tommy's insolent reply.

"And what line would that be?" Tommy challenged, the waiter looking around in fear now. The air around them was thick from the smoke and tension building up.

"They say this is provocation." Caterina snorted. _Of course it is._

"Tell them we're on holiday."

The man leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "They say you are breaking _the rules._"

A strained silence passed between them, Tommys eyes dropping to Caterina's. The ticking time bomb was about to blow up in a matter of moments.

"_Quali leggi, tesoro? _" Her voice was slow, threatening, eyes shooting straight through the waiter.

"They say you are the Peaky Blinders."

_ Crash!_ As soon as those words were spoken a vine bottle flew over the heads and shattered the lamp in the middle of the table, shards of glass littering their surroundings like confetti.

The boys flipped their chairs, taking off their razored caps in order to fight the incoming men the old fashioned way, with fists and razors like they did years ago on the streets of Birmingham.

The battle would've been over even before it had begun, had the Shelby boys not been as tough as they were. Tommy and John held their ground well, fists flying and caps swinging left and right. But Arthur - _oh Arthur_ \- it was like seeing a wild animal released from captivity. The sheer amount of power he emanated, he had no control of, tearing through his challengers like an unforgiving wraith.

Immediately Caterina reached for the gun underneath her dress, pointing it straight at the man coming at her from the left.

Not having the patience to cock her gun, or to risk hitting the boys with a stray bullet, Cat brought her fist back and slammed it into her opponents nose. The man cursed, clutching his bleeding nose, stumbling and crashing into the table behind him.

Her knuckles were bleeding and pulsating from the impact _and she didn't care _— the high she felt from the adrenaline cursing through her veins was more powerful than any of the intoxicating drugs she could take. Fists pounding, hair long fallen out of the intricate style she made that morning, Caterina lost herself in the exquisite art of fighting until her lungs ached for more of the smoke laden air and her hands burned with equal fiery spite like her heart did.

For a fleeting moment she lets herself observe the battlefield around her and notices the way Thomas clutched his cap, swinging it around in the faces of Sabini's cousins, painting them a red smile. It was the first time Cat had seen him properly fight, getting immersed in the deadly dance like a skilled lover, passionate in his rage. In truth, in that very moment, she found him inexplicably beautiful. The way his hair sticked to his forehead, the muscles in his jaw kept clenching with every next punch he threw.

He was beautiful like Lucifer before damnation — only Thomas Shelby fell long time ago and the flames of Hell suited him just fine.

A gunshot ripped the air, stopping them mid action. The man that first served them pointed his shotgun at them, forcing them to step back in surrender.

"Stop! Step back."

"Get out."

On their way out, Tommy snatched the bottle he bought and swigs from it. The crowd of people parted as they went like the Red Sea, throwing vary glances at the violent foursome. He stopped at the last step, turning to look at the people in furious silence, some frightened, some openly making vengeful gestures. 

"We came down here not to make enemies but to make new friends." He looks around the room, one hand wrapped around the neck of their bottle, the other one firmly around Caterina's waist.

"Those of you who are last will soon be first. Those who are downtrodden will rise up. You know where to find us."

Sharing one look over the hollow silence, Caterina and Arthur couldn't help but to crack a crooked smile, irrational laugh bubbling in the pits of their stomach. The crowd watched on in horror as their figures bent and gasped for air, gurgling with laughter, untameable animals covered in blood and cuts and torn clothes and _laughing_.

The four made their exit out of the club, their sinister laugh echoing through the empty streets of Fitzrovia. All they did was come to say hello, but it was one hello the city of London would not forget so easily.  
  


* * *

"I've lost another tooth Tommy. I'm going to have none left." John whined, lifting his upper lip to show them the gap that remained where his front tooth used to be.

Tommy simply pushed the bottle of whiskey they snagged from the club into his hands, prompting him to wash him mouth with a swig.

"Some fucking holiday this is."

"You clocked him pretty well." John told her admiringly, inspecting the bruises that had already formed on her knuckles.

"She fights dirty, innit luv?"

Reaching into his pocket, Thomas produced a white cotton tissue and poured some of the whiskey over it. "Wrap it up so it stops bleeding."

"Fuckin' hell it felt _good_." Cat breathed out, letting out a little laugh. She felt truly alive for the first time in months.

Arthur slapped her shoulder in a brotherly manner. "Nothing gets the blood flowing like a bit of a tuffle."

They laughed like lunatics, leaning against a wall under the gas light, trying to catch a breath of chilly night air. 

"So. Are you all right without your fucking medicine Arthur?" Arthur grinned and nodded firmly.

"John? You all right? Or should I be asking that question to your wife?"

"No more talk of keeping chickens, all right?" Cat instructed, bloody tired of their constant tirade. Who'd trade this life of thrill and danger for the one filled with chickens and farms? 

"I've got fifty quid here." Tommy waved a wad of money in front of them, promising a night of temptations and revelry.

"Let's go and paint the town."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this could easily be one of my favourite chapters. Make sure to tell me what you think about the way this story is developing, I love hearing it! x


	24. XXII | FAMILIAR FACES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which a blast from the past comes back to haunt them

**XXII | FAMILIAR FACES**

  
** IT WAS HARDLY EASY TO** return to their everyday lives once the company returned from their London escapade.

The days prolonged endlessly, and though she wouldn't admit it, Caterina looked over her shoulder more frequently than before. Darby Sabini was biding his time, patiently, waiting to strike back for the act of disrespect they preformed in the capital.

She waited as he turned the locks on the door, content with their evening ritual. Thomas would always wait until all the other workers trickled out of the company offices, one by one as the night settled over Birmingham. He'd wait until Caterina finally dropped her pen in exhaustion or her fingers started to hurt from pressing down on the typewriter and decided to call it a night.

As wonderful as becoming legitimate sounded in theory, no one had warned them of the incessant amount of legal paperwork they'd have to pour over on daily basis. Every penny had to be accounted for, every crate that was shipped, every meeting written down on paper.

"I'll head to Lizzie's. Can't wait to tell her she'll be working for us." Caterina said, pushing her hands deeper inside the coat pockets as she watched Tommy check the locks one more time before they headed down the road.

Sometimes they'd end up in The Garrison for a round of drinks, or he'd drive them down to the Cut to talk and smoke a pack or two before they headed to Watery Lane. It was almost domestic, the comfortable silence in which they'd sit for hours, exchanging bits of their past lives, planning a future.

"Things are starting to happen and I need people we can rely on. And I've seen you struggle with all the unnecessary paperwork." He hid his smirk behind his hands cupping the flame against the tip of his cigarette.

He certainly knew how to push her buttons because Cat flashed him a withering glare. "Oh do shut up, I'm not struggling."

In truth, they _were_ quite understaffed.

What kind of sensible woman would come work for a known gangster, sully her reputation and possibly put her life in harm? Those that accepted the job didn't last a month once they took a look at the books, two at most. It was her way of repaying Lizzie for everything she gave her; protection when she needed it, and a roof over her head. She was the one person that kept her sane and whole for years, and the least she could do for her was to give her a proper job, with a proper pay as an opportunity to start her life afresh.

"I need one of the boys from the shop deliver me the full transaction list for this week." Caterina changed the subject stealthily. "You need to find something to invest the excess in, we can't just keep hoarding the bills in the company safe."

"I've got some things in mind already." He replied vaguely, puffing out smoke into the chilly air of the night.

"And I presume you'll keep those things a secret until it's convenient for you." It was more of a statement than a question.

He hummed in agreement. "I just might."

"You'd die if you didn't have your secrets, wouldn't you?" She sighed as they arrived to their destination, one of the old warehouses Tommy bought and turned into a garage to park the ever growing car collection of the family.

"This secret you might even approve of." A slip of a smile covered his face, watching as the brunette in front of him chuckled.

"Night Tommy, I'll see you in the morning." In a moment of bravery she stood on her toes, pressing a brief kiss onto the hollow slope of his cheek, not noticing the way his entire body tensed form the soft impact of her warm lips against his face.

"Night, love."

It took all the strength he had in his body not to run after her and kiss her senselessly, drowning in the crashing waves of what he felt with every fibre of his being. _She deserves better._ He remained standing there for a few more moments, watching as she rounded the corner and disappeared into the misty night. With a sigh, he threw the remainder of his cigarette on the pavement, squashing it with his shoe.

As he rummaged through his pocket in search for the car key, Tommy tried to shake off the unsettling feeling someone was watching him. It was a curious trait he ascribed to his gypsy blood, a churning of his guts they called foresight, a third eye.  
  
  


Once he finally heard the footsteps coming behind him and firm hands grabbing his shoulders it was too late. Darby Sabini had come to make him pay.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_ Boots broke his ribs and fists pounded against his skull. His mouth was filled with metallic taste of blood, dizzying, choking. They dug around his mouth for a golden tooth and Birmingham's most feared man kneeled in agony, half alive and halfway in his grave, before London's ruler. _

_ "Look at me. Look at me." Sabini hissed, grabbing his chin and making him look upwards. Blood trickled down his face and into his eyes, stinging. _

_ The Italian towered over him mercilessly, Though his face was half shrouded with a bowler hat he wore, the fury in his eyes shined bright enough. "You have the fucking decency to walk into my club in my city with something that's supposed to be mine and parade it right into my face."_

_ His head felt heavy, far too heavy for it to stand straight and he could feel bile climbing up his throat. Sabini was talking about Cat-did they get her? Did she make it to Lizzie's? _

_ "You take up with the Jews. You think London works like that. You just come down and pick a side. You fucking clown. Now your life is over." Sabini's thin moustache twitched in a cruel smirk as he motioned his boys, Georgie, to deal the final blow. _

_ "My face is the last thing you will see on earth. Your mistake. Remember that when you get to hell. I was happy with peace. You broke the rules..."_   
  
  
  


Thomas jolted from the nightmare he relived, the sudden movement causing sharp pain to coarse through his body. It took some time for his swollen eyes to adjust to the light streaming from one of the windows in the room, and even then it hurt to open the other one.

Hollow taps could be heard, nearing, and Tommy wasn't quite sure if that was the pressure tapping against his skull or someone approaching his room. It turned out to be latter, and the sight left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Ah, you paid extra for daylight. The racketeering business must be booming." Chester Campbell stood at the door, his beady eyes surveying the damage inflicted upon the Shelby man. "Are you not going to thank me for saving your life?"

"Pass my cigarettes?" Tommy asked him, pointing at the small bedside table on his left.

Campbell limped over to the table, his cane tapping against the tiles all the way there, and dropped the packet onto his chest. "Three nights ago, at the co-operative stables in Montague Street, there was a murder. A man named Duggan."

"The Oxfordshire constabulary found his body in a shallow grave." In his black attire, Campbell stood at the end of Tommy's bed like a bringer of death.

"I know it was you who carried out the murder of Mr Duggan." Campbell told him, basking in the power her held over the unmovable man on the bed.

"Where's your lovely wife, Inspector Campbell?" A familiar exotic drawl made the hairs on his stand, though he would never show it.

Chester turned to look at his assassin, leaning on the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. Even lacking sleep and disheveled from sitting in the waiting room for hours, Caterina Cardinale looked fierce in her rage — fiercely beautiful.

When one of the boys came knocking on her bedroom door in the middle of the night, she feared the worst. The family packed into cars and flew into the hospital only to be informed that Tommy was still in emergency care. His body took on an inhuman amount of beating, the doctor told them, and it was sheer luck that he was still alive.

She ordered him to be taken into one of the private rooms, slipping some money to the nurses to make it one with windows and a bathroom, and had Arthur and John put up ten of their best men to watch the hospital at all times.

Polly excused herself once morning came, telling her to send word once he woke up and headed to pray at St. Andrew's while Cat was the only one that remained behind, waiting. She had only gone to speak to the nurse for a moment, not expecting to find an unwelcome intruder on Tommys bedside.

"Miss Cardinale," they locked eyes as she sauntered into the room, not breaking their eye contact until he looked down, temper rising. Grace was obviously still a touchy subject for everyone in the room.

"My wife lives comfortably, and lacks nothing." Chester told them passively. "She's happy, happier than she was in this devils hole."

  
"And how's your leg? I imagine being shot by a woman hurts the same as being shot by a man. Just a bit more shameful." Cat jabbed smugly, noticing the way he leaned on the cane on his side.

"You know mister Campbell, when I got shot they gave me a medal. No medal for you I bet." Tommy taunted, breathing out the smoke from his cigarette.

"Mr Shelby, our reunion...is part of a very carefully worked out plan, which has been in place for some time now." Campbell leaned over his bed.

"Every time you lean on that stick I bet you see my face." Cat mused, enjoying the way it rilled up the Inspector.

"And as a result of the information in my possession, I can charge you with murder at any time and provide two impeccable Crown witnesses whose testimony will lead you directly to the gallows. And not only you, but also our dear Caterina for blackmail, arson and murder of one _Emilio Stranzi_. "

Air caught in her throat at the mention of that name, blood freezing in her veins, giving Campbell the satisfaction of seeing a flash of fear across her face.

"_No.._"

How could he possibly know of some minor shooting almost ten years ago? What else did he have on her? Caterina could only watch as Campbells hand shot out, grabbing the weak mans neck, squeezing until his face turned red and he wheezed in agony.

There was nothing she wished more than to choke the living daylight out of the Irishman, but she knew that was not the option. They had to dance to his tune for a while, until they could find a way to eliminate him for good.

"You are on my hook, Mr Shelby. And from this moment forward... you belong to me." Campbell smirked, letting him go, watching as Tommy's jaw clenched and unclenched. "Or else Miss Cardinale might find herself on the end of a rope."

"So, get well quickly. I'll be in touch the moment I hear you can piss standing up without your _loyal_ nurse. Then I will send you your instructions."

"Good thing he's not going anywhere without me. I'm his bloody impulse control." Cat replied drily, though it was directed more at Tommy.

They remained silent until Campbell left the room and his cane was no longer heard clicking against the hospital tiles.

Both of the rooms occupants released a breath of relief. "Sabini and our dearest Inspector. You do know how to choose your enemies."

Caterina analysed his face, noting the purple, swollen eye and a deep cut across his cheekbone. His usually demure face was even more drained now, the exhaustion he felt finally setting in. "Does it hurt?"

Tommy winced with a nod. "Proved his point pretty good. I'll be fine."

"Three cracked ribs, one tooth, a broken nose, serious concussion and possible scull fracture, one broken toe and internal bleeding." Caterina sat down on the edge of his bed, her face losing the tension as she talked.

"I was worried." She cursed herself for sounding so lame, mundane.

Tommy reached forward to grasp one of her hands in his own, calming her effectively. "If he got his hands on you..."

"But he didn't and we'll get our revenge tenfold as soon as you recover." Caterina reassured him firmly. It was not just Sabini she was talking about, but Campbell as well. What a mistake it had been, letting him live that day at that train station, one that she would regret until the day she died.

"We're like sitting ducks here." He said, pulling off the sheets that covered his body with a pained motion. "Easy pickings. I can't stay here."

"Where do you think you're going?" She accused him, placing one hand on his bandaged chest in an attempt to stop him from getting out of the bed. "You can't even breath properly with those cracked ribs, let alone walk."

"First, Charlie's yard," He listed, gently pushing her hand away. "Then I'm getting on a boat. To London."

"And _you_ are going home. If I don't come back you're in charge." Tommy stated firmly, as if it was a case not up for discussion.

"Bloody likely I'd let you go on by yourself." Cat scoffed, collecting all the personal items the nurses must have taken out of Tommys garments. A lighter and a pack of cigarettes, his leather wallet and keys, one gold pocket watch and his flat cap.

"If you'll get yourself killed I might as well come a long to tell you you're an idiot for going in the first place."

"Stubborn woman." He muttered as she reluctantly helped him into his trousers and coat.

Throwing one hand over her shoulders, Tommy leaned almost his full weight on her petite form, causing the Italian to grunt and complain all the way to Charlies yard, half dragging his beaten up form. "I should get a pay rise for all the shit I do for you."

It would be a lie to say she didn't think about throwing him into the Cut when he chuckled at that.  
  
  



	25. XXIII | THE JOLLY JEW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which they visit a totally ordinary, entirely common, not at all suspicious - bakery

**XXIII | THE JOLLY JEW**

  
** CATERINA'S INDIGNANT PROTESTS** did not stop her, however, from boarding January - a coal barge Charlie was kind enough to lend them — with Tommy and Curly, the trio gliding down the river to Camden Town.

The rickety barge made her sick as it swayed in its demure rhythm, threatening to tip over every time the river made a steeper turn — well, she might have exaggerated that part, but Caterina abhorred the feeling of a moving body of water underneath her every moment of the day.

If the trip continued for much longer, she feared she might have a religious epiphany from the constant prayers.

On the first night of their reckless adventure Tommy ran a fever so high Caterina though they might lose him in the same manner as she lost mother. They rotated by his bedside, Curly and her, wiping his forehead with cloth they soaked in the freezing water, calming his shaking limbs until he finally fell asleep. Cat silently admired the way Curly mixed fresh, fragrant herbs she couldn't even name on her own, placing them in bandages over Tommy's wounds, his funny brows furrowing in patient concentration as he nursed him to health.

He might be a simple man, of a bit too many words stuttered, but Caterina was sure he was the kindest person she would ever meet in her lifetime. His funny little stories about the Shelby's and their childhood, or anecdotes from the shipyard made her laugh when they set down to eat. He even kindly offered to teach her how to steer the barge.

She took off her shoes, letting the tips of her toes touch the chilling water, its freshness helping her stay awake after yet another sleepless night.

While Tommy slept like the dead underneath the deck, she spent her nights laying above it, watching as the starry nights turned into painted dawns, mind mulling over every inch of their plan, every possibility and outcome.

"Any of that bacon left Curly?" She called to the man steering the barge. While she was not that hungry at all, she knew Tommy hadn't eaten anything substantial enough in the last few days and she could only get him to eat if he had company to pester him into it.

"Yes, Miss Cat, still some for you and Tommy." Curly bobbed his head up and down in agreement.

Cat rapped her knuckles against the door of the small cabin. "Tommy, come eat something."

He appeared in a matter of moments, stretching his hands above his head as he did so. The colour had returned to his cheeks, though he still sported a nasty bruise over his face and he kept holding his right arm across his chest — she could only guess because of the pain the movement caused him.

"Right, I'm starving," he stated, looking around them, surveying the greenery surrounding them. "Where are we Curly?"

"Heathrow," Curly confirmed his guesses while Cat stood up to come closer and inspect Tommys bandages. "One more day and we'll be there. I'll put something in the pan. Can you steer?"

"I'll give it a go." Tommy motioned for Curly to let him take over.

Cat smiled slightly as Curly disappeared into the cabin. She brought her hand up to touch the already healing scar on Tommys unshaved face. "Curly's horse paste works wonders. Have you entertained the possibility of you being half a horse?"

"Used to sleep in the stables when I was a boy, too." Tommy mused slightly, leaning on the barges rudder. "If I could've, I would've just worked with the horses. No hidden agendas there, no people trying to put a bullet through your brains. Just a good fuckin' horse that appreciates fresh hay and apples."

"Never too late I suppose. You did promise me a horse ride once." Cat reminded him cheekily, buttoning up his disheveled shirt before she resumed her place on the edge of the boat.

"I did," he chuckled slightly, his mind thrown years back, on the stuffy living room and the roaring fireplace in her home, and the unfortunate Monaghan Boy that brought them together.

Perhaps it wouldn't be such a terrible tragedy if the scar remained, Cat though impulsively, the dawning realisation hitting her only when she realised she had been staring at the side of his face for a bit too long.

"Right thank you, now you just steer the boat, I'm far too young to die." She concluded rapidly, flush from both the sun and sudden gust of embarrassment flowing to her cheeks.

And so, instead of continuing their conversation, she ignored the dark haired man's chuckles as she returned to the boat's ledge, admiring how rapidly the colours of the water changed and bubbled into silky white foam, bouncing off the sturdy wood of the barge.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Camden Town was as grey and black as Birmingham was, though at a much grander scale, the looming factory chimneys rising up to the Heavens, chugging out the poisonous smoke and gasses into the pale sky. Hundreds of men could be seen rushing around the docks, unloading the endless cargo from the anchored ships and taking it to the warehouses lined up left and right, resembling the ants in their colony.

"Now that's a whole 'nother side of London we haven't seen. Not glamurous at all." Cat remarked as their barge flowed into one of the canals that was supposed to lead them to their destination.

"Doesn't make it any less important for us. That's the one, get us closer Curly." Tommy pointed in the direction of a large factory, the biggest one they'd seen so far. They could see the workers milling about in white aprons and a sign above the doors said clearly _Solomons Bakery. _

"You can't deny his creativity. A _baker_." She followed Tommy, heading uphill to the main entrance to the realm of the infamous jewish gangster that ruled east London.

A young man with a headful of red curls leaned on the wall by the entrance, alert and tense as soon as she saw them approach. Though he was certainly much younger, he towered over Tommy, arms crossed and thick brows etched together scanning them up and down.  
  
"We're here to see Alfie Solomons." Tommy nodded in greeting, flicking the bud of his smoke at the young man's feet. It proved to be a reckless move as Cat barely had time to react as Alfie's man grabbed Thomas by the collar of his shirt and then pulled him into a chokehold.

"Put him down, Ollie!" came a bellowing call.

A man approached them from the depths of the _bakery, _and Cat reckoned it could only be the man himself - Alfie Solomons_. _"Put him down, mate. He's only little."

There was something uncommonly handsome in the way the Jewish gangster held himself — his shoulders slightly bent forward but still towering over them, half of his face covered by the rough beard. Beneath two bushy brows bright blue eyes scanned the newcomers appearance with scrutiny. 

"Just the two of you?" He asked, eyes darting between Cat and Tommy. Once they nodded in agreement, the Jew simply grumbled, leading the way deeper into his factory, through the heavy machinery and exhausted workers

"You want to take a look at my bakery? We bake all sorts here mate, yeah. Did you know we bake over 10,000 loaves a week? Can you believe it? We bake the white bread, we bake the brown bread. We bake all sorts." While she had met many Southern men and women before, none of them spoke in the same rumbling drawl as Alfie Solomons did. It certainly mirrored his burly physique.

"What would you like, brown or white?" Alfie stopped in a small mixing room, gesturing to the bottles of liquor lined up on a table.

Tommy contemplated his choices with a vary eye. "I'll try the brown."

"How about you lady?" He pointed his question at the only woman in the room. "What do ya drink?"

"I'll wait for the proper good stuff you keep in your office."

The Jewish gangster let out a bark of laughter, passing a small glass of brown liquor into Tommy's hands. "A woman that knows what she wants. I admire that."

"Not bad." Tommy commented, taking a sip of the brown liquor he was given. It was obviously a polite lie, Cat noted by the way his jaw worked as he swallowed it.

Alfie scoffed, glaring at the glass in disgust. "Not bad? Not bad? It's fuckin' awful that stuff. The fucking brown is for the workers. The white stuff, now that is for the bosses. Come look."

He led them through the corridors again, a maze of whirling machinery dwindling and being replaced by rows upon rows of wooded crates and barrels, all marked with a serial number on the side.

While they walked, Cat had a moment to observe the man with his back turned to them — his broad shoulders were covered by a scruff shirt rolled up to his meaty forearms and a baker's apron was tied around his waist. It was an astronomically different picture of a gangster Cat was used to; no oiled hairs or golden watches, no sharply cut suits or polished dress shoes.

Elegant but worn furniture lined the room, filled to the brim with trinkets, crates and other kinds of clutter; an organised kind of chaos Caterina was all too familiar with. As they stood in the office Ollie quickly vanished off into a little glass room, shutting the door behind him and taking a seat, gathering a large book and beginning to scribble messily onto the page

They observed each other, from both sides of the heavy wooden desk that separated them. "You're gypsies, right?" Alfie spoke bluntly.

"He is. I'm Italian." Caterina explained, watching as the Jew's posture changed, back straightening at the mention of her heritage.

Lip curling in disgust he pointed a finger in Cat's direction and stating roughly. "Oh I've been having some trouble with your sort lady."

"I've been having some trouble myself." The woman smiled cheekily, crossing her legs. "What a convenient thing to have in common."

"So what, do you live in a fucking tent or a caravan?"

Tommy's face remained emotionless despite the provocation. "I came here to discuss business with you, Mr Solomons." He stated lowly, reaching into his pocket to pull out a packet of cigarettes along with a box of matches, placing one between his lips and lighting it up.

"Well, rum's for fun and fucking, innit?" Alfie muttered, leaning back in his chair for a moment. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk as if mulling over something in his mind.

"So, whisky, now that..That is for business. The lady knows her stuff." Reaching into is draw and pulling out a bottle of whisky, Alfie nodded appreciatively in Cat's direction.

"Let's talk first, eh?"

"Suit yourself." The Londoner chuckled and stroked his beard a couple of times before continuing in a more serious manner.

"They say you had your life saved by a policeman."

Thomas nodded in agreement, unwilling to tell the entire story of his rescue. "I have policemen on my payroll." He concluded with a tiny shrug of his shoulders.

"Well, I don't like policemen because policemen, they can't be trusted." Alfie's voice lowered as he cracked his knuckles and shook his head in contempt.

Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette before stating. "Mr Sabini uses policemen all the time. That's why he's winning the war in London and you are losing it."

"A war ain't over until it's over, mate." It was obvious the Jew was holding back the impulse to murder Tommy on the spot.

"You were in the war?"

"I once carried out my own personal form of stigmata on an Italian. I pushed his face up against the trench and shoved a six-inch nail up his fucking nose and I hammered it home with a duck board." Solomons exhaled in pleasure at the memory.

"It was fucking biblical, mate. Pardons to the lady but your people are fuckin' wops."

"No offence taken Mr Solomons." She returned with a saccharine smile she perfected over her lifetime.

Alfie grit his teeth, leaning slightly over the table in a threatening manner. "So don't come in here and sit there in my chair and tell me that I'm losing my war to a _fucking wop_."

"The war's been over for four years, it's time to bury it where it belongs. And would a war be won without an alliance?" Caterina offered, tiring of the men's dancing around the subject at hand.

"Bury it, yeah? Bury?" Heavily he leaned back in his squeaky chair and looked between the two for a moment.

"Well, if you weren't losing the war, then you wouldn't have sent me the telegram."

"Really? You forget your fucking telegram. The telegram just said, _Hello _!" His eyes flashed in annoyance, his demeanour changing once again before he continued.

"Now, you didn't come all the way down here to sit in that chair and insult me. Very simple, you want to sell me something. What d' you want?"

"We join forces."

"Fuck off." Alfie barked instantly, slamming his large hand on the table. "No! Categorical. Fucking ridiculous."

"Mr Solomons. Your distillery provides one-tenth of your income. Protection is another 10%. And the rest you make from the race tracks." Cat retained a steady eye-contact with the man on the opposite side of the desk, slowly leaning in with her palms against the smooth wood.

"I know you keep a gun in the drawer. I know you keep it beside the whisky. I know you offer a deal or death." She was a woman who did her research on her enemies; it was imperative to show the man in front of them they were not just a bunch of Northern heathens, that they knew how to play the game.

"I know what I'm saying makes you angry. But we are offering you a solution."

Tommy took the man's seething silence as a sign to but in. "Mr Sabini is running all your bookies off your courses. And he is closing down the premises that take your rum. And people don't trust your protection any more."

Alfie interrupted him, very still as he bore his blue eyes into Tommy's. "You're the bloke who shot Billy Kimber, right?"

"You did, you fucking shot him. That's you. You fucking betrayed him, mate. So it'd be entirely appropriate to do what I am thinking in my head to you right now." With a gravel like chuckle his head snapped in Cat's direction. "And you lady betrayed your whole fuckin' family — and you wops want me to trust you?"

With a familiar click a pistol was pointed directly at Tommy's head.

"But you won't because we can offer you hundred good men, all with weapons. And a new relationship with the police." Cat fired her words rapidly, not willing to risk Tommy's life on hesitance.

"Intelligence."

"Intelligence is a very valuable thing, innit, my friend? And usually it comes far too fucking late." His tone was patronising, but still, the man lowered his gun to the table.

"Let's say that I shot you already, right, in the fucking face."

"And the bullet goes bone, mush, bone, cabinet over there. Which is a shame, innit, 'cause that cabinet's fucked now and I got to get shot of it. So, what I'd do is this...It's fucking simple, mate. I cut that cabinet in half, don't I? I do. I just literally... I cut the cabinet... I cut... I cut the cabinet _literally_ in half, mate."

It was all a show, Cat observed, leaning back in the leather seat of her chair. While Alfie's penchant for theatrics certainly had impact on some men, in this case he was entirely predictable. He'd be a fool to pass on a deal like they were offering them if he wanted to save both his business and his head, but Alfie also had to show them who's the boss and that he could off them in any moment if he pleased.

She was not unfamiliar with such intimidation techniques - Polly liked to call it _measuring of cocks. _Which one of them was a bigger, badder gangster.

"And I take one half of the cabinet, all right, and I put it into a barrel and I take the other half of the cabinet and all its pieces and I put that into another barrel, right? And I send this barrel off to Mandalay. And the other barrel off to somewhere like...I don't know...Timbuktu. You ever been?"

"No." Tommy deadpanned, unamused.

"No? Would you like to go?"

"No."

Alfie made a sound at the back of his throat, leaning back into his chair. "You know, I always thought that you'd have a great big fucking gold ring in your nose."

"Did not expect you to be so pretty either." He glanced towards Cat, entirely aware of the glare Tommy was sending his way.

"I'm sorry, go on, " Alfie turned his attention back at the gypsy gangster with a smug, wide smile. "Tell us your plan."

It took them well over two hours of jabs, insults and Alfie's gruff rambling to reach some kind of an agreement before they exchanged tense goodbye's at the main entrance.

Pleased by the meeting and some jab Caterina made at the expense of his archenemy, Darby Sabini, Alfie chuckled heartily, leading them to the exit. "Shalom love, shalom."

" 'Tis a shame you're not Jewish. You'd be a good Jewish woman, strong, beautiful, much more amusing than the gypsy boy there." He sneaked a glance at Tommy who hid his scowl well behind his hand, as he lit a fresh cigarette while he waited for his companion.

"Well, Mr Solomons, you might still manage to convert me." Caterina enjoyed his attention and Alfie bent down to kiss her knuckles like a gentleman.

"Alfie, please." He gave her one last grin before bidding his goodbye's and heading back to the distillery.

"I liked him." Caterina decided once she reached Tommy again.

"Course you did."

"Well, if I didn't know you better Thomas Shelby, I'd say you're jealous." She teased, sneaking her arm around Tommy's elbow as they trudged through the muddy courtyard of the factory.

Scoffing slightly, he flicked some ash in the air. "Nothing to be jealous of."

"Sure," She took his explanation half heartedly, sneaking a side glance at his pale face. "What's left on today's agenda?"

"I'll go talk to Ada, you take this." He fished a wad of money tied with a piece of rope and placed it into her hands. "And book us a room somewhere for tonight."

"Tommy, this is too much. You gave me over a hundred pounds, do you want me to get robbed?" Cat hissed, unlinking their arms.

"As if you don't have a gun in your coat pocket." He rolled his pale eyes, adjusting the flat cap on his head. "Go get yourself something nice to wear, and I'll see you for dinner."

"You're absolutely mad." Cat concluded in resignation, though she had to admit the prospect of shopping in some of the London's high end shops made her giddy like a child. The fact that she was wearing the same set of clothes for the last five days only added to it. "We're staying at The Ritz then."

"And buy yourself a suit on the way, you look like a gypsy!" She called after him before he was out of her sight, black coat melting into the scenery.

"Miss Cat, what about me?" Startled, Cat turned around to see Curly waiting expectantly on the barge. A pang of guilt stung her heart, having forgotten he was waiting for them the whole time.

"Oh Curly!" She apologised, plucking a couple of bills from the wad Tommy gave her and handing them to Curly. It was the least she could to for his kindness. "I'm sorry, you can go home now. I'll call up Arthur to fetch us back home tomorrow morning."

Though hesitant to accept such a generous gift, Curly beamed with a new bout of spirit. "Yes, yes. Good luck Miss Cat!"

He waved and waved until January turned into a dot in the foggy canals and Caterina was left alone on the docks of Camden Town.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


"Polly, I'm home!"

The boys had proudly told her about the house they presented to Polly that morning and so, once she couldn't find here anywhere else, Cat set off to give her the present she bought her in London.

It was one of those posh houses in a row, in a wealthy, respectable neighbourhood that you'd find on a cover of some magazine — the lush green lawn in the front and a yard with fruit trees in the back.

Caterina set her spare key — courtesy of one Thomas Shelby - on the side table by the door, closing it with her heel. Balancing a finely wrapped package containing Polly's gift — a stunning set of pearls connected by a silver chain — and the one with fresh glazed buns she picked up on her way, Cat wandered through the hallways.

"I _know_ you said absolutely nothing for your birthday, but I was just browsing through the jewellers section and a this caught my eye. I could practically see you-"

The sight she found in the sitting room stopped her dead in her tracks. Polly sat on the sofa, head in her hands and a half drunk bottle of whiskey in front of her. Soft sobs came from her gaunt figure, shoulders trembling.

"Pol?" Cat stepped in tentatively, lowering down the bags in her hands.

"She's dead." Her voice came out as a cracked whisper, dragging the palms of her hands underneath her eyes to wipe away the remainder of tears, avoiding looking up to the woman coming to sit beside her.

"Who's dead Pol?"

"My daughter." Polly clenched her jaw, trying to prevent another gust of tears forming in her eyes. Cat waited patiently as the woman wiped her bloodshot eyes with a tissue

"My Anna, my beautiful little girl." Her shoulders shook, sniffing. "I've been to that medium, the one in the Patch. I felt something was off. She told me my Sallyanna passed on but Michael still lives and then Thomas found him."

A bitter chuckle passed her lips, "And now he won't tell me where my son is. He knows, the _bastard_, and he won't tell me."

"Did I ever tell you about the day they took them away from me? I'll tell you." Polly took a deep breath to still her beating heart. "When my George died Anna was five and Michael was so little, just turned three. It was Sunday morning, I was at church...This... Pinched-faced bitch said to me _You're not forgiven." _

Polly's face morphed into one of disgust, loathing as she remembered the way the woman smiled as they pulled her children from her, as she kicked and screamed like a banshee. "You see, some sheets I'd washed and hung on the line had the name of a hotel in them. They'd been stolen in a robbery, and they said some porter at the hotel had been coshed. And a woman from around here told the police about the sheets. Jealous, you see, about the new sheets. And when the police came, they found a spirits still. Making a few drops of gin. And for that... They took my children from me. And they never told me where they took them."

"And they did it 'cause they could, and 'cause I was weak."

And just like that, the barrier was broken once again and Polly collapsed in Cat's arms, weeping in anguish. "It was all my fault. My fault."

"It wasn't Polly, it wasn't your fault. It was people and their venomous tongues."

"Let's pray, yeah? Give me your hands." Reaching forward to take Polly's hands in her own she instructed her to close her eyes in prayer and focus on breathing deeply and fully.

"We'll pray for her soul and for Michael, wherever he might be. Fate works in mysterious ways, you never know, it might bring him right to your doorstep."

Neither of the woman knew just how right she was.  
  
  
  
  
  



	26. XXIV | REFLECTION OF US

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which they, inevitably, realise they are broken beyond repair

**XXIV | REFLECTION OF US**

  
**THE HUMAN MIND WAS** a fragile thing.

Caterina had come to realise it long before she moved into the Shelby household, when the trains, overflowing with tired veterans made their way back home, bringing in the hollow remains of the men once eager and willing to leave their blood and bones on the foreign soil for the sake of their homes.

For most of that men it only meant 4 more years of waging war inside their heads, instead of the trenches across the sea. They patched the missing pieces with poisoned smoke and hard liquor, pushing down the mud, the blood and the murky fog that enveloped their dreams in a deathly grip. Clear mind, soundness of sanity — it was a luxury far too few possessed.

With every day that passed, it chipped away, steadily, until one's left to grasp at the remains, nails dug in and crawling in hopes of retaining the picture of what they are.

Whiskey was easier to swallow than the fact they were broken beyond repair.

You sharpen your eye and polish your gun and get on with your day, and then another, and another. The numbness made it easier to kill, because, once you've killed the flame in your own soul, what difference does it make to take someone else's?

Cat shuffled through the creaking house, making last preparations before the reopening party at the Garrison. They were expected to appear at eight but it was ready well past seven thirty and she was nowhere near ready, with her hair still in the heated curlers on her head.

She walked down the hall to Arthur's room to see if he was in an agreeable state to head down to his pub. It would be inappropriate that the owner of the renovated pub didn't show up — there were some appearances that had to be kept up, after all.

The last thing she expected to find was Finn handing Arthur a tiny blue bottle, a familiar kind she'd seen in London clubs and, as of late, in women's toilet rooms at the races.

"Finn Charles Shelby!" She flung the door wide open, startling the man and the boy in the room.

The young boy whipped his head in her direction, like a child caught with his hand in the bowl of sweets. A shot of dread filled his stomach and he was well aware he'd be in a lot of trouble for this.

"How do you know my middle name?!"

"Ya middle name is Charles?" Arthur questioned, turning to look at this youngest brother.

"I raised your sorry arse like a mother and this is how you repay me? With doing powder? You're _fourteen_, young man!"

"I didn't mean nothing wrong!" Finn tried to justify himself.

"Give me that. Shoo!" Caterina pinched his ear again for a good measure, throwing him out of Arthur's room.

"Eh you've got a good grip on 'im Cat. Don't want him to end up like us ya know. All we've done in life is to make a better future for 'im, for John's kiddies." Arthur leaned with his weight on the roaring fireplace, finding solace in the way the flames danced above the coals. They were predictable, unlike him these days.

With a sigh she lowered herself in the adjoining armchair, wrapping her robe tighter around her body. "I forget how old he is sometimes. He'll always be that little boy I taught letters and numbers."

"I hope to have one of me own one day. Don't know which sorry woman would settle for this life though," the oldest Shelby brother gave a mournful chuckle that tightened the strings around her heart painfully.

"I know Arthur. You'd be a wonderful father."

"I killed that kid, Cat," his voice was thick with emotion. "Beat him into a pulp."

She'd heard about the incident a few days ago, and the way he lost control over his strength and actions which resulted in the death of some boy. Thomas accompanied her as soon as they heard, to see the body they recovered after they unlatched his unstable brother — one couldn't tell if the damage was done by a wild animal, or simply an uncontrollable individual.

"That kid entered the ring with his consent, freely, knowing the consequences. Now tell me that isn't right." Cat bent down with a sigh, helping him with his tie.

"Listen, I don't agree with Polly and that godawful syrup she's given you — that's a nasty shit, just opium and bromide, and it just wipes you off completely. I don't agree with Thomas either because he pretends to not care, because he's been trying to bury his memories for too long now and he can't let them swim out in the open," she paused slightly.

"You're a good man Arthur, always was and always will be. But you've gone through the unimaginable horror of war and you need help. Will you let me help you, find you a proper doctor in London when this opening has settled?"

"Thank you."

"You're my sister Cat." His thick moustache wobbled as he reached forward to grasp her hand in his own.

"And you're my brother." Cat assured him with a warm smile. With a heavy sigh, she reached into the pocket of her robe for the devious bottle she took from Finn.

"Here, just for tonight. Can't have the owner of the fuckin' pub being a sorry glum bastard." She jested, unscrewing the bottle and pouring a bit of the white powder on the bedside table.

"That should be enough to keep you steady till tomorrow," she stood up to go and leave him to it, only to be interrupted by Arthur as she was at the door.

"Kitty."

She glanced back at him expectantly. "Yes, Arthur?"

"You ought tell 'im before it's too late," both knew what he was talking about.

"We live a dangerous life."

Cat gave a slight nod of her head. "I know." She whispered, disappearing down the hallway.  
  
  
  
  


* * *

Where once there were plain, wooden chairs and matching tables, scratched by use and stained with spilled drink that sunk deep into the wood, now stood chairs upholstered with a burgundy velvet fabric, golden painted frames and shining mahogany tables.

It was exceedingly lavish, like those grand London clubs where champagne flowed in streams, its splendour mirroring Tommy's vision of affluence he strived towards.

"Take that. Take that an' all." Arthur hauled the crate with drinks up on the bar, boisterous and loud while he distributed drinks to the guests sitting around.

He spotted the new employee of Shelby Company Limited struggling with her lighter. " 'Ere you are, Lizzie. Let me get you a light. There you go, my darling."

"Having a good time?" A familiar Italian drawl whispered on her ear. Lizzie turned slightly to the woman that came up behind her.

"Cat! It's wonderful!" She leaned and embraced her tightly, careful with the cigarette holder in her hand.

"You look, well I have no words."

The green and gold sequinned dress that fell to her knees complimented the entire atmosphere of the party; and every time she moved it swirled and reflected the light in the room.

Cat's deep painted lips curled in a thankful smile. "It is, isn't it? How's work treating you?"

"Slow progress," she shrugged, taking another drag of her smoke. "Other coworkers are not so acceptable of a former prostitute."

A dark look crossed the brunette's features. "Give me the names and I'll deal with it. You know I'd do anything for you."

Lizzie chuckled slightly, patting the woman's hand gently. "No Cat, this is something I need to do on my own. Build a new reputation for myself."

"I'm so proud of you," Cat smiled, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek and continued her mingling with the guests.

Most were the family members of Shelby and Lee family, or the Blinders, but here were also some of Birmingham's important merchants and public figures. Cat made sure to impress them, in case the extravagant interior and free booze didn't.

"Thank you, Finn!" Cat stole the glass from Finn's hand in passing, downing it in one go despite of the boy's protests. "Keep him off the whisky, John."

"Will do captain!" John saluted with a wink, clapping his brothers shoulder as Finn's friends poked fun at him loudly. She knew he might hate her now for her meddling, but he'd be thankful for it in a couple of decades.

While she entertained the guests, a familiar figure stepped through the door, her eyes widening at the sight before her.

"Ada! I didn't know you were coming," Polly noticed her niece holding Karl in her arms, striding forward to kiss her cheeks.

"There's Aunt Polly," Ada told Karl who shyly snuggled into his mother's chest. "Aw."

They were soon joined by Esme who greeted Ada warmly, gushing over how quickly Karl had grown.

"D'you want a cuddle?"

"Yes, take him," Ada smiled thankfully when Esme cradled the boy, taking him to their table to see his other cousins. "Polly..."

"Oh, Ada, why don't you think about coming home?" Polly asked her mournfully. She missed the girl's presence immenselly

"Hello, Ada." A deep baritone interrupted their conversation. Ada lifted her eyes to see her brother, polished up as always, looking straight at her.

"Say you'd..." Polly cut her sentence as soon as she heard Tommy speak, shooting him a glare before she left dramatically.

"Tommy," Ada started, thankful for the glass of champagne he passed her.

"So what do you think, eh?" He asked her, gesturing at the interior, a proud smile on his face.

"It's very..." Ada searched her brain for an appropriate word, so as not to insult him.

"Gold?" Tommy supplied helpfully, smirking into his drink.

His sister let a little incredulous laugh at that. "Yeah."

"We had some trouble with the decorators, Arthur pulled a gun. But I'm very pleased how it turned out." Cat joined the siblings halfway to the bar, bringing John along from their table in the centre of the room.

"Hello, Ada," He grinned, embracing her.

"Hello, trouble, how're you doing? Oh, you're spilling my drink!" She laughed once John wouldn't stop rocking her side to side. He turned his attention to the bar where their older brother poured drinks one after the other.

"Hey, Arthur, look who it is!"

Once John wandered over to behind the counter, Ada stepped closer to her brother, lowering her voice so only Tommy and Cat could hear her. "So what d'you want me to say to her?"

"Just talk to her."

"No one can get through to her," Cat added, "I tried, we prayed, but she's stubborn as a mule."

"Tell her I had no choice. I appreciate this." He told her honestly, even squeezing her hand in thanks before he turned to some other guests congratulating him on the reopening.

Cat took the opportunity of Ada's presence to mend the tension that erupted months ago. "Can we get past everything, Ada? We've been through enough, you and I. It's stupid to fight over ideologies and politics among family."

"Well, I can't stay mad at you for long, can I?" Ada sighed in agreement, pulling the other woman in for a hug.

"I missed you," Cat mumbled into the others shoulder, feeling a weight drop from her back.

"Ada, come here, you!" Arthur boomed behind them, embracing his little sister in his wide arms.

Cat laughed as the giant squished his Ada tightly. "You big bear!"

They found Polly on the side of the bar, downing drinks like there was no tomorrow.

"Polly? Why don't you come and join us?" Ada nudged her aunt, watching her reckless behaviour with a very eye.

"At least come cut the celebration cake with us," Cat said, nodding slightly to where to rest of the family sat together.

"I'm not an idiot," Polly scoffed, her eyes finding Tommy, leaning on one of the pillars and subtly glancing their way every once in a while. "He asked you to come, didn't he?"

"I don't want conversation, I want an address. Until I have that, I've not got anything to say," the woman stood up, uneasy on her feet but giddy with the intoxication flowing through her bloodstream.

"Now, it's a party!" She grinned, adjusting her dress. "And I'm going to enjoy myself."

"No, Pol, don't be silly," the two women could only watch on as Polly swaggered through the pub and found some young man to dance with.

Ada sighed, taking the barstool Polly had previously occupied, Cat following her. "You getting laid tonight?"

She almost choked on the air in her lungs. "Oh, no, no, the only thing I'll be opening tonight is another bottle of gin."

"When did you get so boring?" Ada questioned her friend.

She got a raised eyebrow in response. "Who gave you the right to talk, Miss I-work-at-the-library?" Caterina accused her lightheartedly.

"You've always been the wilder of the two of us," she simply shrugged, remembering their youthful days of rebellious outings and mischief. "When's the last time you had a boyfriend?"

The question made her stop and think for a moment. God, she truly missed Ada's straightforward, uncensored way of speech. "A boyfriend or a boy I fucked with a couple of times? Cause I haven't had a boyfriend since school and I haven't had a decent fuck in months."

"A champagne and a double vodka with cherries," Ada ordered, still giggling from Cat's statement, passing her the vodka once it was set on the bar.

"You're twenty-six, for Christ's sake. Live a little. Bottoms up!"

The next few hours disappeared into a blur of gold and faces and copious amounts of alcohol in expensive crystal glasses. The buzz in her head allowed her one night of carefree laughter and spinning around the lacquered floorboards without the constant weight on her shoulders.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


We are inevitably defined by the choices we make, big or small. The ones concerning ourselves, or the ones with a greater impact on the ones that surround us. Each and every one of them altered the paths some would believe to be set in stone by some all-powerful destiny written in the stars.

Caterina stumbled into the pub's bathroom, closing the door quickly to cut off the incessant lively tune that engulfed every inch of the room, and the accelerating noise of the guests as the time progressed.

Leaning her hands against the marble sink, she examined the woman that stared back at her from the mirror; her face was flushed from the heath and the dancing, lips still red and plump. She wove one hand through her unruly hair, unclasping the pearl clips that held it away from her face and placed them into the handbag she carried.

On the bottom of the bag laid the glass bottle of Tokyo she took from Finn. Ridiculous boy, she mumbled to herself, holding onto everything she could get her hands on until she reached an empty stall.

Holding the glass bottle over the toilet bowl, Caterina allowed herself a moment of hesitance. A moment of weakness she hadn't felt in a long while settled deviously on her shoulder, whispering softly, lowering her defences like a persistent lover.

The cigarette packs disappeared before midday, these days, and hardly any sleep could be found before three or four glasses of something strong to keep the noise inside her head silent for a few hours, just enough to catch a few hours before the dawn found her in sweat soaked sheets, twisting and turning from the gripping demons dancing around her brain.

The gilded facade was only a mask, a charade concealing the sense of despair hanging over them.

Caterina pocketed the tiny blue bottle and made her way out of the stall.

_She was hell-bound, anyway._


	27. XXV | MICHAEL THE COUSIN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which they get a new old family member

**XXV | MICHAEL THE COUSIN**

**"ALRIGHT, NAME?"**

Caterina didn't even bother to look up from that morning's Birmingham Daily Gazette once Finn let in yet another candidate for the ridiculous mission underway, already fed up with the array of hooligans and petty criminals that lined up for the job offer.

"The Digbeth Kid," the newcomer stated in a meek voice, causing her to finally glance up and asses him; he was young, eighteen at most and dressed like the American cowboys she'd seen in pictures. It contrasted hilariously against the sleek, new interior of the pub.

John snorted from behind his papers, covering it with a quick cough once Caterina kicked him in the shin bellow the table.

"The Dig-" Arthur began exasperatedly, eyes looking up and down the boys garb. "What are ya? A boxer?"

"Digbeth Kid, like Billy the Kid," he elaborated somewhat proudly. His pride diminished once he noticed the mocking looks the occupants of the booth exchanged.

"Spend a lot of time at the movies?"

The boy smiled and reached to his belt. Presuming the worst, Arthur and John stood up, grabbing their own guns. Cat rolled her eyes in exasperation, standing up as she was the one closest to the boy.

"May I?" she asked him, gesturing to the wooden pistol he had strapped to his belt. The boy nodded, intimidated by the woman standing so close to him.

"Let's have a look," Thomas took it from her hand, examining the woodwork. He pointed it mockingly at his brothers who pretended to shoot back and die.

"Very nice," said Tommy, handing it back. "Where'd you get the gun belt?"

"Me sister made it out of an old blacksmith's apron," he explained as he tucked it back into his belt, pride flowing through him. "Me mum did most of the stitching. She's not me real mum, but..."

"But she does what mothers do," Tommy observed him for a silent moment.

"Have you ever been arrested?"

"Yeah," the boy replied instantly. None of them believed him — he looked as innocent as a sprig of grass.

"Yeah?" He asked, unconvinced.

With a deflated sigh, Digbeth Kid amended. "No."

"Good. You're the first bloke in here today without a criminal record. Arthur we can stand him up," Thomas looked back at the boy. "Do you know what that means?"

The cowboy shook his head in denial, prompting Cat to speak up. "The new Home Secretary wants something done about the illegal gambling..."

"Damn right," John agreed, slamming his hand on the table theatrically.

"About bloody time," his older brother agreed.

"So we help our coppers meet their quota of convictions by having men stood up to be arrested."

Cat peered over the edge of her papers to give the boy a one over. "We'll give you five quid for your trouble. How does that sound, cowboy?"

A giddy smile grew on the boy's lips. "Yeah." He nodded eagerly.

"Good. Write your address down for Finn on your way out." Tommy dismissed him with a wave of his hand, returning to the papers he had lowered down.

"I can't write," the boy mumbled out.

"That's all right, Finn can't read," said Arthur, turning his eyes back at the newspaper.

Pursing her lips, Cat disagreed. "No, the little shit knows how to read, he just choses not to."

"Don't worry," Arthur reassured him. "Just tell him your address and we'll send someone round."

"If the sheriff don't run you out of town first." John added cheekily, pointing a finger at the kid.

Thomas clapped him on the shoulder as he exited the room. "Good man."

"Oh, I don't know, Tom. Kids these days..." Arthur trailed off once Digbeth Kid closed the door of their booth behind him.

"They didn't fight. So they're different," Tommy replied simply, failing to stop his mind from trailing down the memories of some other, more simpler times.

"They stay kids."

"Like it's supposed to be," Cat added, reaching over the table to nick Tommy's lighter for her smokes. "I just hope he doesn't get hurt. He seemed like a good boy."  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  


In the kitchen of the Shelby household Polly could still hardly believe that her son sat opposite of her, there, in flesh and not as a hallucination of a hungover mind.

At first she was lost, speechless, unsure of the way she was supposed to talk to him. She was already embarrassed that he'd seen her in such a shameful edition at the door and dreaded that he would come to think of her as some common harlot.

"Run for the hills! It's the Digbeth kid!"

John and Arthur raced each other through the hallway and into the kitchen, pretending to shoot each other with their guns. Tommy and Cat followed shortly behind, engrossed into their conversation, not noticing the unusual setup in the dining room.

"I'll give him a week, he's got a bullet wound in his shoulder," Thomas spoke to her about the new man he'd appointed for the Camden business, Billy Kitchen. She hummed in approval though her face still twisted in doubt.

"But can he guarantee us a free pass through Black Country? Those bastards gave Curly a fright when we passed through."

"He won't disobey his Sergeant Major's order. And it's not like I'm not paying them," Tommy scoffed slightly as they rounded the corner, almost bumping into John and Arthur, guns still in hand and frozen.

They were cut short by the scene — for once Polly looked happy, content almost, sitting opposite of a young man in worn clothes of old design who stared at the newly arrived additions in shy wonder.

It looked as if they had just sat for tea and some sandwiches, but now, the six of them stood completely silent in the Shelby kitchen, waiting for someone to break the confusion.

"Alright then, Polly," Arthur rested his hands on the back of a chair, looking between his aunt and the boy. "Who's this?"

"Gentlemen, this is your cousin, Polly's son," Thomas nodded in greeting. "Michael. Good to see you."

Their smiles vanished and spines straightened immediately. The topic of Polly's children was one forbidden in the household, and they could only stare at the young man that was their lost cousin.

"You know Thomas already, I suppose," Polly said, meeting the said's man's eyes for a moment.

"John," he offered his hand, shaking it tightly.

"And I'm Arthur." The oldest Shelby gave him a little wave.

"You already met me. I used to throw you outta window so John could catch ya."

"Yeah," John nodded, grinning at the memory. "And I used to put you in a shoebox and kick you down Watery Lane."

"Bet you're glad to be back." Thomas added sarcastically from the sidelines, leaning on the cabinet to light his cigarette.

"I don't remember any of it," Michael shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "All I remember is the day they took me away."

A shadow of guilt passed over Polly's face as she took in her son, in flesh and in front of her after fifteen long years. Unable to keep her emotions in check she crossed the room and hugged him tightly.

"You're here now, Michael." Cat spoke for the first time since they entered the room. Michael's eyes found her warm smile comforting. "Welcome back to the family."

Realising he hadn't introduced the only other woman in the room to his cousin, Thomas gestured to the brunette by his side. "This is Cat."

"Nice to meet you Mrs Shelby." Michael extended his hand in greeting to Cat, his bright innocent eyes unaware of the mistake he had made.

Her eyes bulged out, feeling the blood being drained from her face. "Oh I'm not-" She masked the embarrassment with a strategic cough, looking down to hide the rosiness of her cheeks.

"She's not-" Polly placed a gentle hand on Michael's shoulder, eyes flitting between the two standing opposite of them, equally startled and tense, and trying not to meet each others eyes.

"I'm so sorry-" The boy's face had gone pale as he stuttered out his apologies.

"It's alright Michael, you couldn't have known." She stretched her pale red lips into a wide smile, surpresing the urge to turn and look at the face of the man Michael mistakened for her husband. "Kat Cardinale, it's lovely to meet you."

"Right, leave you two." Thomas ordered his unruly brothers who kept snickering at his glowering face.

"Good to see ya, Michael," said Arthur, clapping the boy on the shoulder before the two disappeared into the betting shop.

"How about I show you round after work, eh? Can I Polly?" Cat asked. She truly wanted for the young man to feel welcome in — most likely — much different environment than the one he grew up in. Michael immediately glanced in Polly's direction, as in asking her permission.

"If you want Michael.." Polly trailed off, though she didn't want to let him go just yet.

"Good, do you like horses? I'll take him to see Curly and Charlie. Charlie is almost family, he's uncle to the boys."

A spark lit up in the boy's eye at the mention, a wide grin following. "I love horses."

"It's in our blood. _Gypsy blood."_ Thomas stressed the word, watching Michael's face for any sign of revulsion.

"Hope you didn't have anything against us before coming here."

Michael's mouth fell open, taken slightly aback. "No, no I-"

"Thomas, stop being an arse." Cat scolded before plucking the rest of the fag out of his hand and marching out of the room.

Michael watched as the intimidating man rolled his blue eyes, obviously used to the woman's antics before following closely behind her. The dynamic that seeped out of their interactions seemed almost private, a bubble which incased them into their own world as they exchanged secretive smiles; she'd shove him slightly and he'd answer with a deep chuckle, unmoved by her attempts.

"Wait for me in front of the office later, yeah?" She called to Michael with a slight smile, closing the door that led to the betting shop.  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Hours later, Michael stood in front of the Shelby Limited headquarters, impatiently waiting for the intriguing woman he met that morning.

"Did you wait for too long?" The lithe form of Caterina Cardinale questioned the young man leaning on the wall by the entrance. "We had a bit of a busy day at the shop."

"Not long," he admitted truthfully. Polly was not so eager to let him go just yet, even after spending the entire day talking.

He held her hat while she buttoned up her fitted grey coat and locked the door to the office, checking it twice for a good measure before pocketing the keys.

"So, what do you do at Shelby Limited?" Michael wondered, wanting to know more about the enigmatic woman. She was obviously not a cousin of the family, with her Italian heritage and Mediterranean looks, and neither was she in a relationship with any of the brothers.

"Ah, well, my formal title would be Chief of Staff. I employ people, but since we**'**re a bit understaffed I also man the finances and arrange meetings for Tommy," she said, head turned slightly in his direction.

"And geld those who call me his personal assistant."

The cheeky smirk she threw his way made both of them laugh. Catching his breath, Michael offered his apologies.

"I'm sorry about that this morning, I didn't know.. I mean, he looked at you in that way so I just jumped to conclusions," he found himself babbling again, desperate to leave a good impression on the dark haired beauty accompanying him.

"Don**'**t worry, it**'**s fine. You're not the first to assume. Really, we**'**re simply good friends," she explained, looking straight ahead at the road that led them out of the heart of Small Heath and closer to the canals.

"Did you have good time with Polly?"

"It was unreal..." he breathed, almost lightheaded from all the information he received that day. "It's still hard to wrap my head around it, you know? Just like that I have a whole new family, a whole new life I could be a part of."

"She never stopped loving you, and she never stopped looking for you and your sister," every Sunday at church, they lit candles, and each time they'd say they prayers for Polly's lost children, hoping that one day God might shift the paths of fate and bring them home.

"How did you become a part of the family?"

"I suppose it started during the war," she furrowed her brows, recalling the memories. "I used to lend out money to unemployed and struggling women in Birmingham while their sons and husbands were on the fronts, with very low interest rate. Both my brothers and father were in France at the time so I knew how hard it was to get by."

"Polly and Ada had to watch over John's children and young Finn. His wife, Martha, died and you can only imagine what if was like to feed six little children. She came to me one day, and I could see it in her eyes how much her pride hurt. It's not in gypsy nature to beg around for help. She's always been known around as a strong woman, fierce in everything she did, and so I told her to take the money, no interest, but to tell me how can she make grown men tremble beneath her," Caterina smiled at the onslaught of memories from another time, an easier time.

"She came round more often, brining Ada - she's the boys's sister, if Polly hasn't told you — who went to school with me, and Finn who we tired to teach some reading and writing," Cat sighed, finding Michael's curious eyes.

Truthfully, one of the reasons she brought the boy along was not only to show him _the splendid sights of Birmingham_, but to asses his nature. God only knew how much Pol had gone through in life, and the last thing she needed was for her son to turn out to be rotten fool.

"Your mother is the closest I have to one. It's not easy to be a woman, let alone a gypsy woman, a widow, a mother to all of us," she hoped he would understand her request. "She deserves only love."

"What about your family?" Michael asked.

"Dead," she put it bluntly, throwing the but of her smoke on the ashen ground only to step on it moments later. "They're dead to me."

The lock on the heavy iron door leading to Charlie's yard was unlocked, and the two strode in, Michael looking around the docks in wonder. They were a mixture of a warehouse and a boat yard, and on the far right side he recognised the stables by the piles of hay and horse manure.

"Charlie, Curly! Look who I have here," Cat waved at two men currently busy with sanding the bottom of a barge.

"This is Michael Gray, Polly's son," she explained, the confused furrow of Charlie's brow turning into one of bewilderment.

"Well, I'll be fucked, you're a spitting image of her," the older man nodded in greeting "Charlie Strong. And this is Curly, don't mind his.. curliness."

"Good to meet you Mr Michael, very good to meet you. Do you like horses?" Curly's grin widened more than she thought humanly possible when the boy nodded in agreement.

"Yes, I have a bay mare back... where I live," he wanted to say _back home_, but the more time he spent with Polly and the eccentric, crude, exciting members of the Shelby clan his village seemed less a home and more of a distant memory of a monotonous existence.

"Curly here is the greatest horse trainer in the West Midlands. He trains Tommy's horses for races." Cat placed a hand on Curly's shoulder, the man in question straightening up proudly.

They spent the rest of the afternoon around the shipyard, feeding the several horses they kept in the stables and exchanging silly anecdotes from their lives. It was warm, and domestic, and quite frankly Michael was saddened once the sun disappeared over the horizon.

"How about a drink at the Garrison before I return you to Polly? Do you drink?" She asked him once they bid their goodbyes to Charlie and Curly, chuckling once she noticed his grimace.

"Uh, not really," Michael scratched his head awkwardly.

"Well, that's a first we'll celebrate," she nudged him gently while they walked.

"You'll be havin' your first pint tonight. A very important milestone for a boy. You're seventeen, right?"

"Eighteen in two weeks," Michael nodded eagerly. "I can't wait."

The two entered The Garrison, the brunette exchanging hello's with some of the occupants of the tables. Michael couldn't help but notice the way men straightened up as she walked over to them, and the amount of respect with which they nodded their heads. He found it fascinating — the way she effortlessly weaved through the crowd, making every person she talked to feel important for that fleeting moment.

"Harry! Two pints for me and the lad. This is Polly's son, Michael."

"Polly's son? Good to meet you, lad," he threw down the rag he was using to shake the boy'shand. "Two pints comin' to ya."

Once again, Caterina led Michael to the family's private snug, the two settling opposite of one another in the

"Just for the record, I had my first pint at eleven." She added, chuckling once Michael's eyes popped out in shock.

"We had a very different upbringing then," on that, they both agreed.

With a dose of scrutiny, Caterina observed Michael while they waited for their drinks; the way his wandering eyes drank in every curve of the wood and every patter on the tiles. He was uncommonly comfortable for a person that recently discovered they had an entire new family.

"I have a feeling you've already decided what to do. You're a Gray, I see that determination in your eyes," he cast his eyes downwards at her words.

"A piece of advice, if you will: Never forget the people that brought you up. The values they planted in you, the love they gave you."

She didn't have time to finish the rest of the thought as Harry entered, carrying two pints of dark, northern beer.

"Cheers, Michael Gray," the pints clanked once they came in contact with one another, the foam on the top swaying rhythmically.

"Cheers, Kat Cardinale."

"Any good?" She watched as the expressions on his face change rapidly until he swallowed the dark beverage.

"Yeah, uh, definitely different than water," Michael chuckled, "But I like it."

Proud of the success the day turned out to be, Caterina allowed herself to get comfortable in the booth, enjoying her drink in peace and newfound companionship. But the entire afternoon she couldn't shake off Michael's words as they remained waiting, demanding an explanation. "Ah, out of curiosity.. You said Tommy looked at me in a way? What way?"

"Like me Dad looks at me Mum," he replied simply, returning to his drink.

"Right," she coughed, unsure how to respond to that knowledge. "In your health."  
  
  
  
  
  



	28. XXVI | ONE OF US

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Caterina is sick of pretty, rich horse trainers

**XXVI | ONE OF US**

  
**A SHARP KNOCK ON THE GLASS** door of The Garrison's backroom interrupted a young brunette in her daydreams over the pub's purchase list for the month. The letters and numbers had started to dance around her vision some time ago, and all she could think of was a hot bath and a cold drink once she came back home, an oasis she would reach only once the list was finished. Caterina raised her eyes, chin propped by the palm of her hand, gone numb from disuse.

Tommy's head was first to pop into the small room, Michael following closely behind.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" She asked, leaning back into her chair as the duo shuffled in and closed the door behind them.

"We'll be out of your hair in a moment. Michael here needs to make a call."

"It's fine, I'm done for the day anyway," she closed the books, tucking some half written letters in it. Their interruption had come in the right moment, a perfect excuse, and the list was doomed to wait another day. "Who are you calling?"

"My mother," even to his own ears it sounded off and more unusual than before. Michael shifted on his feet. "I mean..."

"She's still your mother, I know," Cat smiled, gesturing to the phone hanging on her right. "And what are you going to tell her?"

"I'm going to tell her where I am," the boy started, voicing his determination only to be cut off in the middle of his sentence.

"And you're going to tell her you're going home," Tommy interrupted crassly, staring pointedly at the young man.

"Polly said I could stay for a few days," Michael protested, taking his cap off and seating himself on one of the chairs, confusion evident on his face. In the end, it had been Tommy that first approached him, why would he want him gone now?

"You really want to stay?" Cat questioned, though she shouldn't have been surprised. Who wouldn't want to reconnect with their family after a decade of separation?

Michael nodded firmly. "I've only just arrived," his voice held an accusing note pointed directly at the stern man hovering by the door.

Tommy disregarded his cousin's rising temper and leaned against the wall, taking out a pack of cigs. "What age are you Michael?" He asked, observing Polly's son.

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen," he mused. "Which means it's not up to you, right?"

"I'm eighteen in a few weeks," Michael defended himself. "I make up my own mind."

"You smoke?" Tommy ran the filter of his cigarette over his lip before placing it between them and striking a match in a fluid motion of his hand.

"No."

"Give it a week," Cat threw the remark over her shoulder.

"Drink?"

Michael shook his head. "Had my first pint two days ago with Caterina."

"Bad influence," Tommy chuckled, eyes lazily following the woman that buzzed around the room, stacking books in the cupboards in one moment and dusting the shelves in another.

"_Mea culpa_," she retorted drily, sitting down in the corner of the room.

"You're going to call your mother, going to tell her you're getting the next train home. And when you get there, you're going to write a letter to Polly saying when you're 18, you'll come back here and sort things out."

"I just told you. I make up my own mind," Michael raised his head up, unwilling to back down from his decision. Caterina felt a surge of pride run through her — not many people dared to talk back to the _great_ _Tommy Shelby_, and she was more than glad she now had Michael to keep her company.

"Do you know what we do, Michael?" questioned Tommy, his icy blues boring into Michael's grey ones. "We, Shelbys."

"Yes. I think I know what you do," he replied.

"Yeah," Thomas said. "You've got smart eyes. But you're young, so you think what we do is all right. It's not all right. People get hurt."

Caterina rolled her eyes, growing tired of Tommy's brooding speech. "He doesn't have to be involved, for Christ's sake. If he wants to stay, let him stay," she crossed her arms over her chest, staring intently at the blue eyed Shelby from the other side of the room.

In many cases, talking to Tommy Shelby was like talking to a wall, only better dressed. "Call your mother and I will drive you to the station," said he.

The young Gray was as stubborn as expected. "No."

"In my village, there's this little wishing well. It's made of white bricks, right in the middle of the village green. Everybody says how pretty it is," Michael's voice rose as he talked, a shadow crossing his youthful face as his each word held more venom than the next.

"But I swear to God, if I spend another day in that village, I'm going to blow it up with dynamite. Probably blow my hands off with it, but it'd be worth it. Just to see all those pretty white bricks spread over the pretty village green."

For a moment, the other two occupants of the room stood silent, stunned by Michael's words. Thomas continued to take slow drags of his smoke, observing the boy's face.

"Yep. You're Polly's son, all right," he broke the silence, a wisp of smile tugging his lips.

Cat could help but scoff to herself, amused by the tense debate between the cousins,"Reminds me of someone I know."  
  
  


* * *

  
  


Caterina took no joy in herding up the family members for an unexpected meeting in the betting shop that very afternoon. The situation with Sabini had just made a more darker turn and a permanent weight nestled in her chest ever since that damned telegraph arrived at the office, bearing Tommy's and her name.

She now officially had a target painted on her back and the boys refused to let her anywhere out of their sight, or without additional protection. Though she was used to one or two men trailing after her on an unnoticeable distance, Cat couldn't help but feel stuffy and claustrophobic now that she knew her every move was tracked and noted.

"This had better be good to interrupt my holiday," Polly stormed into the betting shop, looking expectantly at the assembled crowd.

Caterina noticed the lack of the newest member of the Shelby clan. "Where's Michael?"

"In the back room," she replied. "I only brought him because afterwards we're going to the museum."

"He wanted to come in and say hello..." John trailed off, disappointed he couldn't see his cousin. Their aunt made a point of shielding her long lost son from anything that had to do with the family's murky business and, apparently, that included his cousins.

"Shut up, John," Polly bit back sharply, effectively silencing him. "There is nothing of interest to Michael in this room."

"Tommy, get on with it," the eyes of the room focused on the man who stood in the centre, arms behind his back.

"Last night, one of our men had his throat cut in Winson Green. This morning, I had a telegram saying it was Sabini who ordered it," said Tommy.

"And it says here that Thomas Shelby and Caterina Cardinale are next," Arthur added, ripping up the telegram which held the foreboding words predicting the demise of his brother and the woman he came to think of as another sister.

"If our men think we can't look after them in prison, they'll not work for us. Sabini knows that," Tommy continued. Though he rarely doubted the loyalty of people that worked for him, he seemed to lose faith in more and more people as the days went by. "So we need to get the Green sorted out," he turned to one of his gypsy cousins from his mother's side.

"Scudboat, you and one of the boys break a couple of windows, get yourselves arrested. I'll have our coppers get you into the Green and you can find the bastards who did it."

Scudboat shifted in his place, raising his hand to say something. "Instead of breaking a window, can we pinch a car?"

"What?"

"Everybody else is getting a bloody car. I'm still on a donkey." Scudboat complained making the room laugh.

"All right, just get yourselves fucking arrested, it doesn't matter how," Thomas snapped.

"And before you all laugh, a boy is dead. He was just a kid," he looked around the room with a dose of displeasure, and Cat couldn't help but agree. The though of that young man that came to The Garrison, full of hope and life laying dead, throat cut because of them churned her guts and made her nauseous.

"We'll start a fund for his family, Pol."

"Agreed. So is that it? Can I go now?" Polly said impatiently, already fixing up her appearance and heading for the door.

"Well, as company treasurer, I need your permission to spend 1,000 guineas," he added, making his aunt stop in her tracks.

Polly blinked, waiting to see if it was some kind of elaborate joke he was pulling, or he'd simply gone mad from all the mess in his head. "On what?"

"On a horse," he replied simply.

"A thousand guineas on a horse?"

He tilted his head up, unwavering. "That's right."

"When was this decided?"

"You've been busy with Michael," he attempted to justify himself, only proceeding to dig his grave even further.

"Oh, my God. So, in the absence of common sense, you boys have had an idea," her disapproving eyes found Cat, leaning on the wooden post. "At least I hope you'd have some brains to stop their absurdity."

"I wouldn't call it-"

"Polly, there's a thoroughbred, quarter-Arab filly up for auction at the Doncaster Bloodstock," Thomas tried to persuade his aunt.

It meant little to her — a horse was a horse and a decent one could be purchased for _much_ less than what her reckless nephew asked for. "What do we want with a 1,000-guinea horse?"

"When we make our move on Sabini's racing pitches, any men we get into the betting enclosure will be lifted by Sabini's police," Caterina raised her hand before anyone could but in. "_But_, a good racehorse is a passport to the owner's enclosure. We'll be in there with all the polished gentry."

"Yeah, with all the toffs," Arthur added. "Coppers won't know where to look."

"Yeah, the Epsom Derby, Pol. We'll be drinking with the bloody king." John chuckled.

"The Derby?" Polly choked out in disbelief, looking at John and then Tommy. "Did he say the Derby?"

"That's right," he admitted somewhat proudly. It was a well though out plan, hatched out of spite and in need of surgical precision. Thankfully, up to this point, Sabini proved to be a predictable opponent. "For the last 10 years, Sabini's made it his race. If we're going to take him down, might as well make it there, as a symbol."

"Did you come up with this idea in a pub by any chance?"

"We did in fact." Cat pipped up, shrinking once Polly whipped her glare in her direction.

"Pol. A good racehorse is an investment, like property. We need to diversify the portfolio," Polly rolled her dark eyes at his use of fancy words. _Diversify_, she thought darkly, Tommy she knew once was far gone now.

"So when is this sale?"

"Tomorrow," Cat was first to answer.

"Tommy and Cat had a death threat, so we'll have to go with them for protection," Arthur explained, making Polly chuckle in disbelief once again.

"So, you're going to close up the shop, go out on a piss-up and blow 1,000 guineas on a horse that's not even whole Arab."

"Quarter-Arab is better!" Curly laughed slightly. "Quarter-Arab, it means-"

"Curly, shut up." Polly cut him off rudely, only to notice Michael standing in the doorway a moment later.

"I thought I told you to lock that door," she hissed at John who raised his hands in surrender.

"He did. I used the key on the nail." Michael admitted sheepishly, trying to placate his fuming mother. "Look, I've been listening. I want to go with them."

"You see?" Polly cried, throwing her hands up.

"I love horses. I could even help."

"Over my dead body!" Polly retorted, folding her arms.

"It'll be all right, Mum," Michael assured her. It was the first time he called Polly his Mum, and somehow it felt perfectly right, as if he'd been saying it for his whole life. "I've been to loads of horse auctions before with my uncle. They're very respectable. People bring their butlers."

"Yeah, and their posh wives!" Arthur smirked over the rim of his glass.

John grinned, clapping his cousins shoulder. "And their mistresses."

"We'll bring Cat with us, she can be both."

"Oi!" Her stealthy finger reached out and pinched Arthur's ear, making the older man ouch and swat her hand away. "And you'll be a fuckin' butler."

"Let him come, Polly."

John nodded in agreement. "We'll go there, buy an 'orse, come back. I'll drop him back at the house in Sutton before it gets dark," he proposed.

"No," Polly breathed, shaking her head. "Fucking no!"

"All right, that's it. Back to work," Tommy ordered his staff before the family spat got worse. He ran his hand through his short hair, frustrated, growing increasedly tired of Polly's tempestuous attitude.

Caterina kicked herself off the pole, making a shooing motion at the men. "Come on, off you go!"

"Pol, it's not the end of the world," she then faced the woman. "Not only is Michael old enough to take care of himself, but we're all able and armed. There's nothing to worry about."

"You will have a right to talk when you have a child of your own," Polly spat, ignorant of the hurt writing itself over the other woman's face.

John interrupted them before any of them could worsen the situation. "Aunt Pol, when I was Michael's age, I'd killed 100 men and seen 1,000 die," he told her, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he reminisced the blood and death of the battlefields he buried deep in his mind.

"If you want to scare that kid away forever, carry on how you're going. If you want him to stay, let him come."  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


A day and much begging on Michael's behalf, their company of seven set off for Doncaster in an old truck, bouncing and coughing every time they encountered a hole or a minor hill on the country road.

Somewhere in the middle of their journey — if she had to guess, Caterina would say they were in between Nottingham and Sheffield - they decided to stop to stretch their legs and check out the ominous coughing of the engine.

The truck came to a stop with a screeching halt, making the passengers sitting on the benches in the back sway and jump.

"She's heating up, Curly," Tommy noticed once he opened the truck's hood. "Take a look."

"Let me out for a piss," Charlie complained, pushing out of the truck and into the open.

Caterina jumped from her place, squished between Arthur and Curly for the last hour. "Let me out for air! Do you lot know what a bath is? It's 1922 for Christ's sake," she complained to her chuckling companions, unfazed by her words.

She stumbled awkwardly, cursing her skirt as she had to lift her leg to exit and almost falling into the mud under the truck in the process. Were it not for Thomas lounging a few feet away, quick to catch her before she ended up face first in the soil, she'd be far from presentable for the event.

"How much longer, Mr Chauffeur?" She asked Tommy, giving him a thankful nod once he steadied her.

"I'd say about an hour," he replied, squinting slightly at the distance and the plains stretched in front of them. They were drawn back to the truck once they heard sounds commotion and Arthur's scoff of disbelief.

"What the bloody hell's that?"

Michael looked up innocently from the cloth in his lap, offering one of the neatly packed sandwiches to the oldest Shelby brother. "She made loads. Do you want one?"

"Sandwiches. Ham, I think. And we've got shrimp paste, too," Michael shifted around the package, looking for the other sandwiches at the utter disbelief of the spectators. "There's tea, but we'll have to take turns 'cause there's only one cup."

"What?" The youngest of them asked as he passed the flask of tea to John

"Sandwiches?" Arthur asked again.

"Yeah."

"Polly made bloody sandwiches?"

"She's gone all domestic, it scares me a bit," Cat remarked, eyeing the sandwiches warily, though there was a warmth settling over her heart. For the first time in a while there was no tension in the air, no stress or fear as they passed the flask around, smiling and joking as a proper family would.

"What's this? Teddy bear's fucking picnic?" Charlie looked between Michael and the rest of them, accepting the tea from John.

"All right," Thomas chuckled, taking out his smokes. "We will drink the tea and we will eat the sandwiches and then we will drive on. All right?"

He was met with a reluctant approval, the food and a warm drink quick to placate any disbelief the boys were feeling. Giving one more amused look to the domestic scene in front of him, Thomas clapped his uncle on the shoulder.

"No crumbs, Charlie."

"I'm sitting up front now, no discussion," Caterina said once she had her fill of tea and a smoke, not eager to continue the trip in the bumpy back.

"I'm sitting up front!" John retorted, offended, only to have a furious Caterina right in front of his nose. The others stifled their laughter as the woman, head shorter than him, looked up to the youngest Shelby with a righteous fury burning in her irises.

"I'm the only one with no cock between my legs so I get to choose!"

John turned to the rest of the men once she marched off, hiking up her skirt slightly so as not to ruin it in the pools of mud on the ground, only to be met with shrugs and nods of agreement coming from the rest of the men.

" S'got a point, mate."  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


"All right, lads, this is a respectable event and we will all behave accordingly. No weapons, no drinking. It also means, John, that we will stay together. No wandering off after skirts," Caterina narrowed her eyes at the youngest Shelby brother before reaching over and fixing his collar. She'd be damned if they didn't present themselves in the best possible light, as a _respectable fuckin' company. _

"When the horse comes up, I will do the bidding. I've already registered my interest with the auctioneer. So he knows to expect my bids," Tommy explained to the group as they walked up the stairs and towards the viewing platform.

"Do I get to run a hand over her, Tommy?" Curly asked with a bounce in his step, eager to take a look at the quarter Arab Tommy promised to buy.

"We'll have a vet's report, Curly. But keep an eye open when she walks."

"I've got a feeling, Tommy," he stammered, looking around the room with a dose of distrust. "Something isn't right."

"It's all right, Curly. You're just in an unfamiliar place, we all are." Tommy allowed Caterina to slip in front of him and press herself against the bannister to peer down to the floor where the horses were being paraded around. She could feel his looming presence behind her, daring her to take a step back and settle between his arms. But hardly socially acceptable.

"I get feelings sometimes," he said quietly.

"It's all right, Curly," Cat sent him a reassuring smile. "It's all right."

The auction was already in full swing, the auctioneer yelling out the prices and the finely dressed people around them nodding their heads or raising palms. Michael was not wrong when he said the auctions were respectable events — the gentlemen with thick cigars and elegant ladies whispered to each other, carefully selecting the well bred horses for their stables. She couldn't help but feel their scrutinising eyes on their group; no matter how well dressed or rich they might be, the world of the old moneys and aristocracy would remain out of their reach.

"Two thousand and six hundred. I am bid! Sold!" The auctioneer announced, slamming his mallet on the desk, quick to introduce the next horse up for sale.

"Morals of Marcus, Sedgemere stud, by Tetrarch out of Lady Josephine," a beautiful grey filly was brought into the yard. "We'll start the bidding at eight hundred guineas."

"All right, Tommy, this is her," murmured Charlie.

Caterina leaned over the railing to take a better look at the horse they were bidding for. "God, she's a beauty," she admired the lean muscle of the filly's legs, a perfect fit the racing.

"Do I hear eight hundred guineas? Eight hundred and fifty? Do I hear nine?" The auctioneers voice run through the area, followed by Tommy's nods.

"Do I hear nine? Nine, am I bid?"

Each time the price went up and Tommy kept nodding, Cat's grip on the bannister increased, blood pounding in her ears.

On the other side of the railing a beautiful brunette couldn't help but let her eyes stray to the dark man eager to bid for the filly, and his curious entourage. Her eyes trailed over the gaunt slopes of his cheeks, down to the clutching grip he kept on the wooden bannister, completely immersed into his need to obtain the said horse. There was something wild, something dangerous in the way his piercing eyes lifted ever so slightly to scan the rest of the room.

"Bid for this one," she told her father, busy with reading a dull, financial column in the papers.

"The grey? Why?"

"He's beautiful," she replied simply, not taking her eyes from the enigmatic man on the other side of the room. The thrill of the bidding only made him seem more intriguing.

The man looked up from his papers, looking at her as if she's completely lost it. "It's a filly."

"One thousand and one hundred. Do I hear two fifty?" The auctioneer continued as the price rocketed, making their company shift uncomfortably. "Do I hear five? One thousand and six hundred. "

"Who is that woman and what the fuck is she doing?" Cat hissed into Tommy's ear, making him glance to the other side of the room. The woman quickly averted her eyes, embarrassed at being caught staring but Caterina continued to look at her, judging her by her appearance.

"One thousand and seven hundred. Thank you."

"That's it, Tom, you have to stop. You don't have it in your belt," Arthur warned his brother, but there was nothing that would stop Tommy, not even the posh ladies with their deep pockets, not while he was so determined to have that horse.

But all Cat saw was red and she was determined not to let some posh lady win for the sport of it. "I'll add my fiver. 2000!"

"Yes, I do. We're having the horse," Thomas told his stable master, gripping the wooden railing as the bidding drew to an end.

"She's a sweet beast, Tom. But, stop, I tell you. I feel something bad!" Curly fretted again making Tommy his and shut him up.

"Do I hear two thousand and fifty?Last time. Two thousand and fifty?" Caterina let out a sigh of relief once the auctioneer slammed the mallet down one last time, signifying their victory. "Sold! To Mr..."

"Thomas Shelby," he couldn't help the satisfied smirk crossing his face, even when he faced his exasperated company on his way to deal with the paperwork.

"To the premises of Mr Charles Strong, Small Heath."

"What kind of premises?" The notary asked, lifting a quizzical brow at the two unusual people

"Boat yard."

"Yachts?" Almost snorting in amusement he simply replied. "Canals."

The notary took off his glasses, giving the man a one over, trying to solve the unsettling feeling he made him feel. "I'm curious. What is your business, Mr Shelby?"

"Import, export. But I also sell pegs and tell fortunes," he told him with a cheeky smirk, stretching over his face as the notary's face turned blank.

"Don't forget talking to horses," Cat added with a smirk of her own, taking over the paperwork from him.

He emerged from the office, leaving Caterina to deal with finance while he looked for his rambunctious family, only to be cornered by the woman that competed with him for the horse. "You beat us to it," the brunette's posh accent rang through the hall, making him stop and face her.

Thomas stopped, intrigued. "Did I?"

"I was trying to nab a filly for my stud," she replied, looking at him through her eyelashes.

"Sorry," there was not an apologetic bone in his entire body, but Thomas was curious to know more about the woman that managed to drain him from his money in a matter of seconds.

"Thomas Shelby from where?"

"From Birmingham."

"Goodness!" The woman exclaimed in surprise.

"Hardly any," Caterina added drily as she emerged from the office, subtly eyeing the fancy woman. It would be an understatement to say she was beautiful; her frizzy curls giving a dash of wilderness into her expensive garb, dark eyes unwavering as she watched Tommy's features.

"May Carleton. I breed racehorses and train them," she feigned not being aware of the other woman's arrival. "Oh sorry, and you are?"

"Caterina Cardinale, business associate," she gave her a tight lipped smile, noticing the rest of the boys down the hall. " An exciting bid, for sure."

"What is it you do?" The woman turned to Tommy again.

"I rarely answer questions, is what I do," Tommy shot right back.

"Tommy, come on, hurry up! We've got to go!"

"Well, before you go, if you ever decide to put that filly out, I'd be interested in having her."

Caterina replied before Tommy had the chance to. "We plan to race her."

"Do you have a trainer?" Caterina had to stop herself from scoffing at the woman's poor flirting attempts. Of course, she should have expected that Tommy would attract the attention of some woman or another, as he always did with his brooding looks and mysterious answers.

"I know people," May handed Tommy her card, briefly looking at it before passing it to Caterina who placed it in her purse.

"I know people, too."

"Tommy! We've got to get this kid back before dark or Polly will have your balls! She will have 'em!" John sang from down the hall.

"We know different people, I would guess," she added lightly. "My father knows Mick Hancock. Trained three Ascot winners. "

"Oh, so that was your father?" said he.

"Yes. We're joint-owners of the stud. He took the majority share when my husband was killed."

"Ypres," a beautiful, rich, military widow was exactly what Caterina didn't need in her life right now.

"Tommy! We've got to get back to the caravans! The chickens are hungry!" Cat had to bite back a laugh at their ridiculousness, but thankful as it made Tommy shift and turn towards them.

"So will you consider me?" The woman asked expectantly, watching as Caterina and Tommy exchanged a look.

"I will consider you."

"Come to Birmingham next week, we can discuss it properly," Cat extended her hand in an amicable manner, gripping the other woman's hand far too tightly for a friendly handshake.

"You still didn't tell me what you do," May called out as they disappeared down the hallway.

"Oh! We do bad things. But you already know that," with a cheeky wink to the elegant horse trainer, Cat rejoined their group with a quick stride.

"Right, about bloody time!" Arthur threw one of his lanky arms over Cat's shoulders, pulling her into his side as she squirmed and laughed, trying to wiggle out of his grip.

"It's the fucking truth, John boy. Rich women these days, all they want is working-class cock," he added, making the boys laugh and Cat grimace unintentionally.

"Tommy, maybe she was the something bad I had the feeling about!" Curly muttered as they entered the auction paddock, making their way to the exit.

"Ah! She looks all right to me, Curly!" exclaimed John, giving the boys a suggestive wink.

"All their men are dead, see. Officers, all shot."

"Yeah, by us."

"All I'll say is she has good contacts in the racing world," Thomas justified himself, taking his keys out of his pocked and throwing them backwards.

"Here, Michael, you drive."

"And she's pretty to look at," Cat added.

They noticed a man sitting at the auctioneer's desk almost a moment too late. "Thomas Shelby?" He suddenly stood up, brandishing a gun and aiming at straight at Tommy's head.

"Tommy! Down!"

Arthur pushed her down on the ground and out of harms way before he launched himself at the shooter. Grains of sand embedded themselves into her palms as she collided harshly with the ground. Through a spinning vision she could see another unfamiliar man chased down by John who shot at him twice before he fell to the ground, unmoving. The gunshots rung through the room until the didn't, and Cat was finally able to focus at the scene unraveling around her.

"Tommy Shelby? How about fucking Arthur?" The oldest Shelby continued to plummet his fists into the Italian man. "Fucking good to meet you."

"Get him off him!" Thomas yelled, motioning John and the rest to help him. "Arthur! Arthur! Get him off him!"

"Arthur, that's enough. Arthur, come on!"

"Come on, Arthur, come on," it took four of them to pry the feral brother off the shooter as he continued to trash and growl, lost somewhere in the abyss of red tinted brutality that clouded his vision.

"That's it. It's over."

"Arthur!" Cat used all her strength to push his shoulders back and down on the ground until he cooled off. The perpetrator was unrecognisable, beaten into a gory pile of blood and broken bones.

"Fuck, he bit his ear off," she cringed away and closed her eyes, the tea she drunk hours prior threatening to make a second appearance.

"He's still breathing." Tommy sighed in relief, kicking himself off the blood-soaked sand before he turned on his soldier side on, barking orders over the chaos.

"Don't get blood on the kid!" he ordered, picking Cat off the ground in a tight grip and walking her over to where Michael stood, completely motionless.

"Michael, you didn't see a thing. This didn't happen, all right?" He stressed, eyes wide and demanding. The boy simply nodded.

"Give me the keys," when the boy didn't budge he repeated the order. "Michael, give me the keys."

"I'm all right to drive," his cousin reassured him.

"All right. Go on. Cat, you have your gun?" She nodded, light-headed from all the yelling and gunshots. Tommy touched her cheek, as if reassuring himself she was alright before he reluctantly let her go.

"Right, go with Michael and bring the truck to the back exit," he muttered before turning back to Arthur and the rest in an attempt to salvage the mess they created.

Cat's firm grip snaked around Michael's upper arm, guiding him to the truck in long and firm strides. "You've seen things today. Do you see what we do Michael?"

"You're one of us now, Michael," she stated, looking warily at the boy's passive expression. He seemed almost unfazed by the blood-thirsty scene he witnessed only moments ago.

"I've always been one of you."


	29. XXVII | THINGS LONG OVERDUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, despite everything, things fall perfectly into place in the right moment

**XXVII | THINGS LONG OVERDUE**

** ALL OF THEM A BIT BATTERED** and bruised, the company returned from the auction two thousand guineas lighter and buzzing from the adrenaline still flowing through their bloodstream. It took them half a bottle of some unknown liquor they found in the back of the truck and some of the liquid concoction Arthur now had to carry with him, to calm the oldest Shelby brother. Out as lights, he then proceeded to sleep off his temper until they reached Birmingham again.

One thing in particular weighted on Caterina's mind through the entire nauseating ride; Michael's hollow silence as he watched straight on, gripping the steering wheel in a cold surety. Not even when they dropped him off at Polly's at Sutton did he utter more than a couple words of a goodbye and a solemn nod of the head before he disappeared into the house.

To an unexperienced eye, it would look as if the boy suffered a great shock by seeing an unknown man being beaten into a broken pile by his relative, surviving a real assassination, just like the ones he had the opportunity to see in the pictures, or read about in the papers. And yet, Cat could decipher the silence through the determined eye and white knuckles, through the steady and even rise of his chest - Michael Gray had felt what most of them did once the dust settled over the battlefield. He felt _alive_ and blooming in this new environment, cementing his decision to stay in Birmingham for good.

The thought of him joining their ranks, risking his life now, when Polly had finally found some peace of mind, brought in another wave of turmoil that rolled over her chest. Lately, it seemed everyone she met fell victim to the guns pointed straight at her head, and she'd be damned if Polly's son ended up among them.

Throwing away the possibility of stomaching anything but a cup of Earl Grey, Cat pushed into Tommy's office in a search for the fountain pen he kept stealing from her desk on every opportunity he had — she made a point of writing it down as a potential Christmas present for him.

There were still things that had to be handled by the end of the day, and that included listing the unexpected expenses at the auction today, somehow masking the price of the horse so as not to draw Polly's fury onto them.

Tommy's desk was a perpetual chaos; half read books underneath a full crystal ashtray, piles of papers in a desperate need of a signing, price lists and trinkets of all kind. A glaring opposite to a sharp cut, organised man he strived to be seen as.

She complained once how nice it would be if he added one of those fancy phonographs everyone of importance seemed to have these days, only to be cut off by a sharp _no._

Cat found his obvious distaste for music peculiar, if not a bit worrying. Sometimes after a particularly exhausting day at work he'd find her in the Shelby kitchen and sweep her off her feet like a gentleman. There'd be no music save the gentle tapping of her heels against the old floorboards and their even breaths as he twirled her between the chairs and the dish cabinet.

_I prefer the silence_, he admitted once, while they swayed and turned in an embrace that left her skin tingling. _I prayed for it back then, and I still do. Just to get some decent fucking sleep. _

Instead, he preferred a good book, something useful like that expensive volume about the history of horse-breeding she got him last birthday.

She found what she was looking for acting as a bookmark, chuckling once she noticed the author of the half read volume being the one and only Florentine philosopher who's train of thought mirrored Tommy's almost to a dot. Cat could only hope Thomas didn't have the ambition to take over the country.

Out of curiosity she reached forward to sift through the letters that came in that day, looking for any coming from Camden Town or any other of their business partners. Never in her wildest imagination did she expect to find one that would make blood run cold in her veins.

It was a small envelope, with a dainty, feminine handwriting on it, a very familiar one that brought an onslaught of memories she tried to repress.

_For Thomas, _she wrote, with deliberate and precise strokes of a pen so very unlike Cat's quick and at times unintelligible scrawl, just as the two women differed. While one wrote with a poise of a well-bred and proper lady, the other's letters found their place on the paper with brevity and sharp precision, as if she was somehow running out of time.

She heard him open the doors and shrug off his coat on the nearby chair before heading straight to the cabinet that housed his liquid vice. As if burnt with some invisible, stinging flame, the letter fell from Cat's hands, landing softly on the papers.

"There's a letter on your desk," she told him tersely, storming past him in a flurry of silk and tweed. "I'm going out."   
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


Though Caterina had a peculiar habit of showing up at peoples doors uninvited and unexpected, at queerest possible hours, Lizzie never failed to usher her in and offer her a freshly brewed tea or something stronger.

In a dim lighted room, Cat and Lizzie laid on the bed, the former's head nestled in the latter's lap, eyes closed and thinking. On the outside she seemed almost peaceful, her hair fanned out underneath her, but there was a thunderstorm brewing inside her heart, mocking her, clenching and pinching with every breath she took.

"He's just a man," it was the third time Lizzie repeated that sentence, each time in a varying amount of disbelief in her voice and Cat couldn't help but sigh.

"I know Liz. But he was, he is..." she paused, unable to concoct a normal sentence out of her jumbled mind. "The only man I could consider as my equal, the only man that doesn't look at me through my name and its weight but as a living, breathing person with opinions he values and — _fuck, Liz_ — he's been nothing but kind and supportive to me for the last three years. I want to believe he cares."

Despite all the trouble he and his family had gotten her into, it was undeniable that Tommy Shelby made her feel _alive _and_ living_ in a way no other man had ever achieved, an addictive all time high that flushed her cheeks as if she was twelve again and he was her first love. _Love_. It was not a word that came easily to her mind.

"Kitty, darling. I've known Thomas Shelby for quite some time and not once did I see him look at anyone with such adoration as he looks at you. Stop torturing yourself and tell him," Lizzie argued, trying to understand what made it so difficult for the two to express themselves, apart from being utterly emotionally inept.

Some years ago, when she first met the Blinders leader, Lizzie entirely sure he was one of those men that would drink and whore and work themselves into oblivion until they died alone and repressed by the regrets that had accumulated over their lifetime.

The same thing could've been said about Caterina; she drank, swore and smoke like a man, completely unapologetic of her sex and opinions, and without a single emphatic bone in her body.

But they changed, slowly but surely, until Thomas stopped seeking her out for nightly dalliances and instead employed her in his company, asking her about her day and workspace satisfaction instead of her former services. And Cat - _her dear, darling Cat_ \- no longer hid her insecurities behind artificial smiles and clouds of smoke, and reached out to her when she needed help, and that's exactly why she turned up on her doorstep that very day.

Opening your heart to another person was, in fact, absolutely terrifying, and Caterina was well aware of it. To place our fragile souls in the hands of another equally flawed individual was an equivalent of handing them a knife and placing an x over your heart.

It's gut churning, nerve wrecking, insane and irrational, and so very human.

"But what if... It won't work, Liz," she squeezed her eyes shut, taking another pull of her smoke. They were too stubborn, too ambitious, too reckless for their own good and all she could think about is the inevitability of their disastrous clash.

And still, there was the issue of the blonde he already once chose before her — who was to say he would not do it again? Who would want her sharp tongue and dark mind? Wouldn't it be more attractive to compliant and proper lady on your arm, and not a gun wielding, foul-mouthed criminal?

"Do you have an insurance that either of you would live a long and healthy life, that'd you'd have time? No, love, as much as it pains me to say, you could be shot dead on your own doorstep tomorrow. Do you truly want to feel regret then, for not simply telling him how you feel?"

Lizzie took a deep breath, restraining the pain seeping through the cracks of her being, letting her fingers glide through her friends hair. "What I'm trying to say is, you have nothing to lose and everything to gain."  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


At first, Thomas was confused.

He poured himself a hearty glass of whiskey and sat down behind his desk, pleased with the day's outcome despite the unfortunate turnout in the end. Now more than ever he needed to find something to occupy Arthur with, for his own safety. The Garrison and the boxing was obviously not enough to tire him or calm his nature.

Sinking into the comfort of the leather and sighing, he reached for the papers he saw Caterina shuffle through earlier, before rushing out in a hurry. He had wanted to run after her, but presumed it was just nerves from the exhausting day catching up with her and decided it would be the best if he left her alone for a while. He'll seek her out before he went to sleep to check up, he though.

The envelope was carefully torn open on one side, and he presumed it was the one he saw Cat drop earlier. The senders address stood out sharply, black ink on expensive white paper; _Grace Campbell_, _Dorset Street 14b, London._

It was the very same letter he received a week ago and decided to tuck in somewhere in his belongings, preferably to forget about it entirely. He never assumed she would find it — he hoped she would never find it.

He slammed the now empty glass on the table, leaning on his elbows, tempted to simply pull every hair out of his skull.

For two years the Irishwoman's shadow hung over them like a fiend, an invisible barrier that created a suffocating air of hesitance between him and the temperamental Italian, despite the culprit being hundreds of miles away and well out of their lives. 

How tempting it was, the sense of peace he's been running towards for what seemed ages now — and then it's ripped from underneath him like a rug, mocking him, sneering above him as he laid in the mud.

For all he seemed heartless there was no one that felt more deeply than Tommy Shelby. It was a curse of a gypsy's heart — they loved as fiercely as they lived and in the end it was to become their ruin.

Truly, he hadn't felt that way even with his first love, the gentle Greta Jurossi who drowned men in her blue eyes, who held his heart in her dainty grasp until the unforgiving stroke of destiny took her away. He refused to acknowledge the feelings worming their way underneath his skin, settling in the valley of his ribs and the cracks in the marble of his posture.

Thomas hated himself for loving her the way he did.

He tried to push it away — _by the God he really did _— to convince himself that the searing feeling on his skin when they touched was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. To ignore the nagging jealousy he felt every time he saw Michael watch her with wide, fascinated eyes as she smiled and talked and touched his arm in the utterly frustrating friendly manner.

No, he did not deserve her — for all her sins Caterina was still a saint comparing to him, a martyr of familial ties. She deserved a house in the country and a man who'd shower her with flowers and kiss her tears away until laughter spilled through her dark lips again. All he could give her was an uncertain future and bloodstained gold, a war-weathered heart of his being that ached for her light.

Maybe Caterina Cardinale could be his salvation; an answer to his whispered prayers in the crumbling trenches of France, when he prayed to God to send a heavenly angel to wash away his death stained hands.

No, he would never be good enough for her, but he'd damn well try, with every breath that he took, every step of his torrentous path, every beat of his depraved heart.

In the dining room of the house Arthur flipped through the day's newspapers while John propped his feet on the adjacent chair, baby Harry napping on his chest. The two sat quietly ever since they got back from Doncaster, as if nothing at all happened. As if they swept it all under a rug, the brothers sat down for dinner Esme cooked up, enjoyed s few drinks and some of the day's papers in a quiet content.

It was their brooding brother slamming the door loud enough to wake the baby that snapped them out of their evening monotony.

"Oi! Tommy!" John called after him over the screaming of the newly woken and wailing child. He had just been trying to light the cigarette between his lips, almost dropping it on his son in the process.

"What devil got into him?" Arthur lowered his papers. He took a glance at the coat rack on the side. "Didn't even bring his cap."

"I bet it's that stew Esme cooked up for dinner," John made a face at the bare mention of his wife's cooking. Esme had many talents, really, but anything in or around the kitchen was a complete catastrophe. "Cleaned up my guts good, I think I lost two pounds."

If Arthur hadn't gushed with laughter he never would have heard his wife coming up behind him as he said that, whacking him with a wet cloth over his head. He screeched in disgust, wiping the droplets of dirty water from his face.

"You can cook yourself from now on, ungrateful bastard." The raven haired woman spat, taking their child from her husband and marching off upstairs.

"Esme, Esme love, please-" half guilty and half exasperated, John pleaded, scrambling after his scorned wife. "I was joking, I swear!"  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


If it was any darker the two shadowy figures would have passed each other without noticing, but the row of streetlights provided enough light for the two to see each other clearly as they advanced, nearing each on an empty road of Small Heath.   
  


"What do you want? It's still drizzling if you've haven't noticed," Caterina blurted out impatiently after the long beat of silence once they could see each other clearly. In truth, he hadn't noticed the slowing but relentless patter of droplets around them, or the way it soaked his black coat, seeping into the clothes underneath, nor could he care less about it. It would stop at some point, but he would not let himself be deterred by the damned rain.

"I want," he stopped two steps before her, tore his fingers through his wet hair. "Forget it," his voice was quieter, now. How to begin? Maybe he should have sorted that one out in advance.

"What? What do you want?" Caterina demanded, every fibre of her being alight with anger she could never possibly explain.

_ She_ wanted him, in the bluntest possible ways. She wanted his striking gaze, his calloused hands, his arms wrapped around her, never letting go. She wanted him the way waves wanted to kiss the shore, the way flames consumed plains, insatiable, the way a drowning man would gasp for air.

She wanted him completely, infinitely, all the broken pieces and all his darkest thoughts, and no amount of rain could douse the feelings she had tried to repress for so very long.

"You. For a really fuckin' long time," his voice came out breathless, unapologetic. Blue never seemed to be such a warm colour. Tonight, it burned.

"The moment you walked away that day we defeated Kimber, I knew I've made the worst decision of my life," it must have been cold outside, for sure, Caterina couldn't feel her legs properly, and her fingers shook slightly on her sides.

All the courage and determination with which she exited Lizzie's house seemed to have melted away with the falling droplets. "What about Grace?"

"A proof of my cowardice," it crossed her mind then, that maybe they had to break each others hearts in order to know the worth of what they were given, no sooner so as not to burn out, candles dancing wildly on the untamed winds.

"Do you not see it, woman? I haven't spent a day not repenting," his eyes and voice were fierce, fiery. She didn't notice him stepping closer to her, a breath away as he cupped her face gently between his calloused palms.

"I ran away from loving you because you deserve more than a war torn man, a broken man with nothing more to give you than himself, all I have and all I will ever have," he couldn't resist it anymore, his hands bringing her to him, not giving her time to talk for he feared would lose his courage.

"I ask your permission to be selfish."

She was acutely aware of every inch of Tommys pale face, of his half-closed lids and the darkest eyes boring through her own, of the shadow of light stubble across his jaw where he hadn't shaved, of the fading white scar that remained on his left eyebrow — and above all his red, inviting mouth, gently leaning, waiting. Testing the boundaries.

It was in that moment Caterina Cardinale was the most powerful woman in the world, holding Tommy Shelby's heart in the open palms of her hands.

"Don't break my heart, Tommy Shelby," a point of no return; her eyes drifted up from his lips to his eyes, giving him permission and Tommy couldn't quite shake the feeling that maybe he was dreaming. He'd be jolted awake by an unforgiving phone or someone knocking on the office door at any moment, wouldn't he?

"Wouldn't dream of it, Kat Cardinale."

It was far from a gentle kiss, though she could feel him trying to steady himself beneath her fingertips, to rein the desperation she too could feel stirring in the pit of her stomach. The earth twisted and trembled beneath her feet. Or was it just her knees?

It was not electricity running through their veins either, it was a thunderstorm boiling her blood and she knotted her fingers in his shirt, pulling him harder against her. Her body curved desperately into him, hands grasping at his collar, trying to close the nonexistent distance between their bodies. One of his hands wound its way to the back of her neck, the other pressing against the small of her back as the edges of their bodies slowly melted away.

They broke off only to gasp for air before his lips were on hers again, eager and unrelenting, yearning, making it up for all the reluctant glances and passing touches exchanged over the years in a hesitance of wanting more.

He kissed in the same manner as he wade through life, grasping as if she was an apparition, a fragment of his imagination and bound to slip through his fingers once again, like all the goodness he seemed to find in life.

Only this time Caterina was as real as he was, nestled in his arms, fitting as perfectly as he imagined, a lost piece of the most complicated puzzle he ever tried to solve.

That night on the dirty Small Heath street, as the faint shine of the petrol lamp extended its pale fingers over two entangled beings, two brokens made a whole.   
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've tortured you enough, haven't I?   
took them 27 chapters to kiss properly smh


	30. XXVIII | DAMAGE CONTROL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which she has neither time nor patience for Irish inspectors

**XXVIII | DAMAGE CONTROL**

** A SET OF PALE PAINTED** nails cut the stuffy air in a single, dismissive motion. Iron door hinges squeaked and scrapped as they opened, closed and let yet another person inside the room. 

"State your name and the reason for coming here," Caterina tried to control the monotony of her voice, but as the time ticked on and the clients filtered in and out, she found it harder maintain the same unreserved interest in every issue brought in.

Whose idea was it, for her to accept the audiences as if she was the Pope, hearing the issues and pleads of the poor, begging for a scrap or protection from those above them? Her own, she noted with dismay, but she failed to calculate in the hours of actually sitting and _listening_.

The woman before her lowered herself in the plump leather chair, keeping a firm shaking grip on the purse in her lap. Her clothing was mismatched, clashing in colours and style, only adding to the fact she must be too poor to afford something up to date.

"My name is Lucia, _signorina_, and I've been selling me family's produce for years, _signorina_, at the Bull Ring, paid my fees and all," she took in a breath, adjusting the scarf covering her head.

"But a few months ago this new woman came, put up her stand and started selling her fabrics, fine wool and linen. And then one by one she turned the other women against me, and there's not a day that my stall in not trashed and me greens not sellable no more."

Stefano Ricci, who was the one to bring her the woman in trouble, observed the interaction from the side with quiet admiration. He was one of the first to turn his cloak on one Cardinale and step in the service of another, and he did not regret it for a moment. The woman he now called his boss, his _capo_, was all the people talked of and more.

One of Caterina's hands rested on her chin, almost grazing her red lip as she listened to the woman like a priest in the confessional, gazing away into the distance, impassive, remote. There was something godly, otherworldly in the way she held herself so arrogantly and yet so humbly at the same time.

She gave her a soft nod as a gesture of human sympathy. "What is her reason to do so?" Her tone prompted the other to speak on.

"My husband. He... He's a good man, gentle and kind, but he's also Chinese and their hatred is so deep rooted they want my family to starve for it. And I can't do anything because she's pays for her protection to Vincente Changretta," Lucia was trembling, silent tears streaming down her gaunt face, pale and weathered with worry.

The mention of his name made the Italian woman stand up a little more straight, finally turning her whole body towards the merchant.

"Why have you come to me instead of Don Cardinale?" Caterina leaned slightly over the desk. Her tone was bland, almost chastising. "You know I'm a part of Shelby Company now, and there is little I can do to intervene in Bull Ring. It's hardly under my jurisdiction."

"Signorina Cardinale, you're my only hope. The entire city speaks of your kindness, of your justice for us poor people. I lost the faith in the police and all those who tell us they can right the wrongs in the world. Please, I beg of you, I'll do anything, anything you ask me," the merchant cried out in her anguish and fear, turning into a weeping mess under the young woman's stern gaze.

Whiskey coloured eyes stared ahead, closing only for a momentary sigh.

Up until now, people mainly came to her for little things, like landlords upping their fees or bureaucracy, the little things that made a little man's life bitter, but this — this was an opportunity. If played right, it could be a setting stone for something much bigger than this underground operation she was harbouring in her office.

There was a war brewing, entirely inevitable, a clash of generations she was determined to win no matter the price she had to pay.

"Please, get up," she stood up, making her way around the desk to comfort the woman. "I'll send two of my men with you tomorrow to help you with your stall. One of them shall remain at the Bull Ring for the next couple of weeks, and if she attempts something more severe she will be made aware under who's protection you are. You and your family needn't worry."

"Signorina, you are my saviour! Good God will bless you tenfold," the woman insisted. _No, not God,_ Caterina thought, _he had no business in Birmingham._

Lucia jumped from her seat with a renewed vigour, grasping Caterina's hands between her own and shaking them. "Anything, ask me anything, I am at your service," she went to kneel at her feet but Caterina was quick to catch her by her elbows and straighten her up.

"I will take your word for it. Now go home and kiss your children and your husband," the younger woman instructed firmly, pressing a tissue into her hands. Tears of anguish were replaced by the ones of pure relief.

Caterina watched on, unmoving from her place as she leaned on the desk behind her, palms of her hands tightly gripping the lacquered wood. Even when the doors slammed shut and silence once again reigned in the room, she stayed, the promise she made weighing heavily on her mind.

"How bad?" came her tense whisper.

Stefano kicked himself off the wall he was leaning on, brushing down the non existent dust on his suit to join her by the desk. His youthful dark eyes flickered over her hunched figure with concern. She'll work herself into an early grave, for sure.

"There's been a word of unrest in the Nechells," he begun, pushing his hands into the pockets of his navy suit.

"Of what sort?"

"Apparently your father's company hasn't paid the workers for the last couple of months. They've gone on strike on Friday and are threatening to destroy the machinery inside the factory," he explained.

Shifting on her feet, she crossed her arms over her chest. "And he's not doing anything?"

"I have a friend who is c_onsigliere_ Bianchini's assistant. On the last meeting there was even a word of selling some factories because of the debts," it was not hard to pinpoint his fellow conspirators in the Cardinale Company. Somehow, Roberto managed to turn even his most loyal allies against himself and the business, and yet no one had the gall to overthrow the patriarch that still held one quarter of the city in his hand.

"But I think there's something more to it, and it most likely has to do with Changretta."

A displeased sigh followed her grimace. As time went on, the Changrettas had become more courageous, taking house by house, restaurant by restaurant, street by street. Back then she had managed to rein them in, as a matter of mutual respect and friendship they shared, but now it seemed they took far too many liberties and expected her to accept them without retribution.

Not in her neighbourhood.

Cat reached forward with her hand, grasping Stefano's one with a firm shake. "Thank you for doing this. I know how much you're risking by coming here."

"I'm doing it for justice," he stated, and meant it. Only Caterina Cardinale could reestablish the company, bring it back to its former glory, the only one that could keep so many families in the Nechells from starving.

A soft smile graced her features at his words. "And I'll remember that."

Their interruption burst in the room in the form of the sharply cut Blinders leader,

"Ricci," he greeted the man standing next to her cooly.

"Signor Shelby," Stefano replied curtly, taking that as his sign to leave. He had a vague idea why the Shelby man seemed unfavourable of his presence, and found it mildly amusing. Still, out of respect he bent down to press a cheeky kiss to the back of Caterina's hand.

"Signorina Cardinale," he covered the mop of his dark hair with his fedora, clearing out of the room in a moment.

"Keeping tabs?" Thomas asked, shrugging off his coat and letting it fall over one of the leather chairs, followed by his peaked hat.

Cat nodded slightly, wiping her hands off the fabric of her pants. "You really think I would just leave my people in the hands of that merciless old bastard?"

Without a word, Tommy grabbed her hand, pulled her closer so he could kiss her. It was perfectly unreal still, after a full week, she felt like an effervescent dream in his hands.

He found she cleared his head better than whiskey or any kind of smoke, better than any kind of poison he used to take. Grounding, and at the very same time completely lethal to his train of thought as soon as he tasted her lips.

For a moment they were teens again, deftly sneaking around with their first love, feeling the rush of adrenaline every time they come close to being discovered.

It was not as if they didn't want their family and friends to know about their entanglement, but they oddly enjoyed the secretive sneaking around, stealing kisses when no one was looking, Tommy absentmindedly tracing shapes on the back of her hand underneath the kitchen table.

"Tommy," Cat murmured as his hands cupped her face, blues of his eyes roaming over every inch of her face; the half closed lids of her eyes and the gentle slope of her nose, beckoning lips demanding his presence.

"_Hm_?"

"A penny for your thoughts?"

"I'm an incredibly lucky man," he admitted proudly. The urge to kiss her whenever he liked, to show the world she was _his, _his equal and his best part consumed him. "Can't I surprise my girl with a second of my day?"

She couldn't help but chuckle at the uncharacteristic softness of his voice. "Now, you know I don't believe that for a moment," batting her eyelashes, she escaped his embrace like a shadow.

Lifting one of the slates of the office's closed blinds, she took a peek at the employees milling about the office, her eye catching on the unexpected figure hovering by the entrance. "Michael's chatting up your secretaries," she commented, not complaining once Tommy slid behind her, resting his hand around her waist and his head on her shoulder.

"I'm not paying them to flirt with him," he scowled slightly. "Liz is the only one actually getting shit done. Employee of the fucking year."

There was something different in the way Polly's son acted ever since that unfortunate day at the auction. He seemed sharper, perhaps a bit colder. Still, Polly hadn't noticed anything and that was all that mattered. "Look at him. Full of hope, a spark in his eye. We'll break him."

"He wants this life. It's in his blood," Tommy argued. Their stained blood and all that came with it would always catch up to them, no matter how hard they tried. He's seen it on Ada, who had been determined not to get involved with the family business at all, and the way she now itched for a word from home.

"Doesn't have to be, we can't be slaves of our own bloodline." She stayed quiet for half a beat, then asked. "You'll really let him in?"

"I see potential in him," said he, "I promised Pol he'll be dealing with the clean books, nothing of old business. And a higher wage than advertised."

"You see yourself in him. That's a spitting image of Tommy Shelby if he didn't go to war."

"You wouldn't like him," came his reply and for a moment, a pang of something akin to hurt flashed through her. It hurt her to see him think so little of himself at moments.

"What makes you say that?" She wanted to turn around and face him but Tommy's grip on her waist tightened, bringing her flush against him.

"You like the danger," with a deliberately slow motion of his hand he moved the locks of her hair away from her shoulder, exposing her bare neck to the warmth of his presence.

"You like the thrill," he murmured against her skin, lingering just bellow her ear.

It took all her strength not to melt right there on the spot. "Oh, you bastard."

"What was that, Miss Cardinale?" His sharp grin turned awfully criminal as he let her turn around and wrap her arms around his neck. Would it be such a terrible thing if she simply stayed like this for the rest of her life?

Hardly containing a grin of her own, they fell into each other so naturally, standing barely a breath away. "You're a devil, Shelby."

"_The_ Devil," his lips found hers again, and she swore she could never grow tired of the utter contentment she felt underneath his touch.

One of her hands weaved itself into his short hair, eliciting a satisfied groan from the man as she tugged, as the kisses turned more frantic. His fingers pressed against her hips, almost bruising, the pain only making her shudder with pleasure.

_If I go to sleep I might wake up and realise this was all a dream,_ she had told him once they reached the door of her house that night when they finally surrendered to their desire.

_And I'll be there to kiss you good morning_, he promised and it was the one he intended to keep until the day he died.

"You have work to do," she chastised him playfully once they pulled away for air, knowing full well that if they continued this way neither of them would do anything productive for the rest of the day. Not that she would complain, at any given occasion, especially if he continued to trail his lips down her neck like he was doing at the moment. 

"No, I don't. They can wait," he replied stubbornly, like a petulant child being parted from his favourite pastime. 

"Go, shoo, work that magic gypsy charm on your new horse trainer," he laughed and so did she, his eyes never leaving her as she reluctantly pulled away from his warmth.

"Mhm right, you're telling your boyfriend to go charm another woman?" The blue-eyes menace adjusted his rumpled shirt.

Even dressed head to toe in black and grey Tommy Shelby _glowed_. "Boyfriend, eh?" She shot back cheekily.

Tommy swooped down to collect his coat and she allowed him to press one last parting kiss to her swollen lips before he was gone, leaving her to smile at the closed door like a lovestruck teenager.  
  
  


*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*  
  
  


With a free afternoon on her hands, Cat opted on spending it outside instead of her usual spot in the office or behind The Garrison's bar. She relieved Esme of the children duty for the rest of the day, the woman thanking her profusely. Bringing her and John's youngest with her, she went to visit her parents at the Patch while Cat remained behind with the other five rascals. 

John's brood, Cat reckoned, had more energy than the entire Small Heath combined, and could surely power the entire city with their incessant babbling. They ran around her in circles, wearing her down until she complied and agreed to take them to the nearby park and later, after dinner, take them to buy a little sweet treat at the sweetshop.

It was safe to say they promised her she was _the best auntie in the whole wide England. _

"Will, stop tugging at your sister's hair," she tired shouting, but to no avail. The boys continued to poke Katie and Mary until the girls retaliated with full force, pinching and biting, wreaking havoc through the playground.

Thankfully, there were no other children playing there on this particular afternoon - Cat was not in the mood for judgmental looks and sneers that usually came from many mothers.

She heard him long before he spoke, the _click click_ of his cane against the stone sparking ire in her belly. "What a fine, sunny afternoon, wouldn't you say Miss Cardinale?"

Chester Campbell was the worst kind of human stain she couldn't possibly be rid of.

"_Inspettore_," the young woman did not even look up at him, simply stretching her legs in front of her. "Never took you for one to scour the playgrounds. Though, I must admit, I've heard of many perversions among the police force," she smirked mockingly, testing his temper.

It took a great deal of self-control not to grimace when he lowered himself on the bench she sat on, folding his arms in front of him.

"My, my, do you kiss your mother with those foul mouth of yours?" He chuckled mirthlessly, knowing full well where to strike in order to produce a reaction. "Or do you perhaps service the entire Shelby spawn?"

_Very witty_, she wanted to snark. "How unseemly of you to ask me that, Inspector, when it is your wife you should be asking," she turned her head slightly, just in time go see the red starting to creep up his collar. "It stings, doesn't it, Chester?"

The Irishman simply chuckled, like a disappointed parent would, observing the way the brunette roamed through her pockets for a pack of smokes.

"I trust my wife's vows, but what would you know about honesty? I'm sure you haven't told your lover all the dirty details of your past. Have you told him about your past lovers yet?" Her hand stopped halfway up to her cigarette, a bolt of dread shooting up her spine.

"That's none of your fucking business, bastard," she spat, making the smirk on his face grow.

"I suggest you keep your _boyfriend_ on a leash, he's been acting out lately. I might be merciful when I want to but the Crown seldom is," the patronising tone of his voice irritated every cell of her body, and for a moment she hoped to end up in Heaven just so she wouldn't encounter him in the afterlife.

"Do you know why I chose Tommy Shelby for this mission? A mission of outmost importance for the Crown-" his preaching was cut off by Caterina's biting tone.

"You think, just because he's a criminal, a gypsy, he's like an expendable workforce for you. Deal or no deal, you will attempt to exterminate him as soon as the deed is done. But from the moment you decided to blackmail me too, this became very, very personal."

Nearly jumping out of her skin when his lecherous hand grabbed her thigh, Cat forced herself to remain perfectly still even once she could feel his foul breath near her ear. "I can make the rest of your pitiful life absolute Hell, you Godless wench, you'd beg to die," hissed Campbell.

If he expected fear from her, he would remain disappointed for the Italian did not budge one bit. Instead she brought the dying cigarette to her lips and exhaled.

"You think you've gotten more dangerous since we last saw each other. Though, I must admit, your threats have become more creative," she mused slightly, flicking her eyes from her lap to the Irishman in a lazy motion.

"A higher government position doesn't make you a bigger fish, _Major_ Campbell. It just puts a bigger target on your back."

"We'll be seeing each other very soon," he promised, leaning heavily on the dog's head of his cane.

"Oh, I hope so, Chester," there was something unsettling in the way she flashed him her teeth, almost predatory.

"We do have a history."  
  
  
  
  
  


*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*  
  
  
  
  
  


That night, every building that once housed a _gelatteria _owned by Caterina Cardinale burned. An unfortunate incident involving the machinery that mixed the treat, said the police inspector upon the inspection of the scenes. No further investigations were made, and the insurance was paid out for the thousands of pounds worth of damage.

Those that spoke of black-clothed shadows that were seen in the dead of the night coming and going out of the said buildings were quickly silenced and disregarded.

The workers of Cardinale Import got their first wages in months.  
  
  
  
  
  



	31. XXIX | LIGHT A MATCH, END A LIFE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which several things go up in flames

**XXIX | LIGHT A MATCH, END A LIFE**

  
**THE ENTIRE CLOSE CIRCLE OF** the Shelby family sat huddled in their snug in The Garrison, save Polly and her son, the birthday boy in whose honour they had gathered. While they waited, Caterina kept herself occupied with bugging the youngest Shelby, joined by both John and Arthur.

"So, Finn, you've got two choices. Mild," John paused for the sake of dramatics. "Or mild?"

As if he was actually weighing his options, the youngest Shelby contemplated for a moment. "Mild," he gave them a toothy grin, reaching for the pint passed from John's hands.

Cat threw a hand over the boy's shoulder bringing him closer to ruffle the mop of unruly hair upon his head, despite his vehement protests. "My baby's all grown up," she joked, earning a bout of laughs around the table.

The poking was silenced as soon as Polly appeared at the door, letting Michael pass right after her. "Here he is!" Arthur roared, the half-bottle of whiskey he consumed already going to his head.

They stood up to greet the boy, a chorus of well-wishes raining onto him as soon as he passed through the door, and the newly made adult couldn't help the wide smile stretching over his face.

"Happy birthday, Michael." Thomas was first to greet him, a brief appearance of a smile visible on his lips.

"Eighteen years old. You're a man today," the oldest Shelby raised his hand, clutching a near empty glass of whiskey just as John hauled another bucket of beer onto the table, passing a glass to the boy.

"And after that, we'll go find you a lady of the night," Arthur nudged his cousin, making his mother fume and hit him with her purse.

"Arthur!"

Clambering out from her usual spot between Arthur and Finn, Caterina produced a finely decorated parcel and passed it to the birthday boy, landing a loud, red-staining kiss to his cheek.

The packet revealed a navy tie with silver stripes running across — very fashionable, or so said the nice sales assistant at Selfridges. "Just a little something from me," she mussed up his perfectly slicked back hair.

"Thank you, Cat. This is too much," he said, overwhelmed with the sudden gust of affection and embraced the woman.

"Michael," Tommy said, clearing his throat as he passed him a small leather box. This one contained a pocket watch, elegant and simple. It was a very Tommy Shelby thing to do, give a present with a deeper meaning to it.

"So you're never late for work," he explained, though he would never publicly admit how glad he was Michael joined their ranks.

Words failing him, Michael only gave him a simple smile and a nod. Tommy wasn't a man of many words either.

John, closest to his cousin, clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome to the business, Michael," he announced grandly, almost far too loudly and shut up only when Esme pulled him down.

"Welcome to the _family," _Cat stressed immediately, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

Polly shone with indescribable pride, heart filled with love to the point of bursting.

With a clap of his hands, and then slamming one on the table, Arthur signalled for something stronger than the basin-brewed beer. "Right, come on, let's get him drunk."

"Whiskey!"

"No whiskey. He's got work tomorrow. Give him only dark mild," Tommy ordered, making the rest of the booth groan.

"One whiskey," Cat pouted, trying to sway their leader with a flutter of her lashes. "It's his birthday." There was not much he could do in retaliation. The fierce Tommy Shelby gave an exasperated sigh, the snug exploding in cheers again.

"A toast," he grabbed one of the glasses, raising it in the boy's direction. "To Michael."

The family echoed his toast, content to wash away their worries of the day with a hearty dose of Scottish brown gold.   
  


* * *

  
  


John dealt the cards again, for the third time that evening.

"It's easy as that, John boy. London, you wouldn't believe it," with a content sigh on his lips, Arthur took another drag of his smoke. One might assume he was reminiscing something much profound than a libertine encounter with a lady of ambiguous morale.

They'd been teaching Finn how to play poker for the last few hours, but the boy was a lost cause. Instead, Arthur decided to grace them with scandalous tales from London, or more precisely, his escapades with southern ladies.

"The women, John boy, the women. I've got this one, she's a dancer, right? She can do things with her-" he made a few abstract motions with his hands, trying to depict the curvaceous figure of the 'saucy London girl' — Arthur's words — that entertained him at the Eden Club and all her wonderful virtues.

Caterina threw a sharp glare over her cards, making sure to kick Arthur's shin under the table for a good measure.

"Finn, cover your ears," she told him. He was the last of the brothers still untainted by the horrors of the streets, rebellious but still a bright-eyed lad that deserved much more than any of them could give him.

"Let him listen Cat, might even learn a thing or two," he disregarded her worries, giving a wink to the rascal who soaked up his every word, like a sponge far too eager to grow up.

"He should be learning his sums and history, not how to fuck two girls at the same time," she rolled her eyes. Spying a lit cigarette between the fourteen-year-old's fingers, she reached over the table and plucked it straight out, his protests falling on deaf ears. "Shouldn't smoke this shit either."

Arthur grunted underneath his breath, turning back to the cards in his hand. "Well, that's a knowledge he might actually use in life, unlike the bloody French Revolution."

Just as she was about to launch into a full blown discussion they were timely interrupted by Michael and Isaiaah walking through the door, slightly disheveled but smiling widely, carrying a pint each.

Arthur was quick to greet them, scooting over so they could sit in the booth. "Here they are, look, Junior Peaky boys," Cat raised her eyes to look at the two newcomers only to have her eyes land on the bloodied collar of Michael's shirt, and the red liquid dripping off of Isaiaah's knuckles, sticking to the table.

She wasn't the only one who noticed either. "What's that on your hands," John furrowed his brows, intrigued by the prospect of Polly's prim and proper boy scrapping with some Small Heath hoodlums. "Did you get in a tuffle?"

"Some idiots at the Marquis of Lorne," Michael looked a bit sheepish. "Tried to stop me and Isaiah from drinking, but it's alright. We fought them off. Arthur, we had to stand our ground and we did."

Cat placed her cards down with a frown, moving closer to asses a fresh bruise forming on Michael's cheek. "Did they know who you are? Whose sons you are?" They couldn't have, she noted grimly, no one had a death wish that came with insulting one of their own.

"The Marquis, eh?" John and Arthur exchanged a knowing glance, both of them standing up at the same time. Finn attempted to stand up and go after them only to be pushed back down by his brothers.

"Where's your dad?" Asked Arthur.

"Preaching." Isaiah answered. Arthur simply grunted in thanks, patting his shoulder before he made his exit.

"Don't nick any of me chips, Finn!" Yelled John over his shoulder, pulling up his collar before he, too, disappeared through the door. That only left Caterina who first downed one of the glasses from the table before moving around it.

"Finn, fetch boys a drink while we're gone," she placed a placating hand on the boy's shoulder before fetching her coat off the rack. 

"We'll get someone to patch you up nicely so Pol doesn't notice. She'd have all our heads if even a strand of hair fell off your head."

"Why can't I go with you?" Finn whined petulantly, sick of always staying behind whenever something remotely interesting happened.

"Next time, Finn boy, I promise." Promises meant little those days, a currency of the losing side. "Now fetch them a chaser each. And don't touch the pile, I _will_ know."

With one last pointed look to the youngest Shelby, and a wink to the two scrappers, Cat was out and gone, following after John and Arthur with a quick pace and a wicked predicament on their minds.

Isaiaah slumped back into the leather of the booth, letting out a low whistle. "Such a shame, they had good whiskey." He stretched his arms over his head, shuddering slightly at the thought of what might befall the rude barkeeper. It would no doubt end on the front cover of the paper's tomorrow.

"Where are they going?" Michael asked once the two Shelby's and Cat disappeared through the door, a strange sense of foreboding simmering in the pit of his stomach.

"To set some bills in order," Isaiaah replied solemnly, looking more into his pint than anything else. "By the order of the Peaky Blinders."

Michael had a vague, albeit ominous idea of what 'setting bills in order' meant here in Birmingham, where the law started and ended with the name Shelby.   
  
  


Inside the Marquis, the Peaky Devils took their revenge for the slight made against them. Cat could feel the _thump, thump, thump_ of her beating heart hammering in the back of her skull as another row of bottled spirits crashed against the floorboards with satisfying crunching, all with a decisive blow of her arm.

Arthur was already pouring gasoline over the bar and around the barkeeper, tied up and trashing on the ground beneath them.

Standing in the middle of the pub, what were once stools and tables now simply reduced to chunks of wood, Caterina assessed their new masterpiece. "Think we're done here, Johnny, Art," she motioned for the boys, swaggering out of the wreck.

John dropped the axe from his hands. "Let's light this shit up." It felt good to be in the action again, he noted. He needed to get out of the house more.

Throwing the canister to the side, Arthur took out a cigarette pack from his inside pocket.

"M'lady would you do us the honour?" With a wicked smirk playing on her lips, Cat took a cigarette from his outstretched hand with a haunting sense of fascination. A strike of match lit it up, a strike of hand allowed it to land in the puddle of gasoline that led to the insides of the pub before them.

And just like that, plunged into a fiery inferno, Marquis of Lorne was no more.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


In the bowels of one inconspicuous rum distillery of Camden Town, a Jew and an Italian glared at each other from across the table in mutual disrespect.

All it would take was one poorly place word or a wave of hand from their bosses and the two sides would gladly commence a bloodbath. Not today, however, for there was one issue more serious than the long standing feud between the Jews and the Italians.

"Now, admit it," Darby Sabini crossed his arms. "The Peaky Blinders are out of control."

"Yeah. Yeah, they're fucking out of control, mate. They came down the canal and spread like a fucking clap," Alfie replied, fiddling with the golden rings on his fingers. He did have a deal with Thomas, but what were deals these days? The Birmingham-bred gangster had proven himself to be a wildcard, something neither of them could allow.

"Right. So now they're everybody's problem," a look of false sympathy crossed the Italian's face. "Alfie. You and me, we've been fighting since we were at school."

The jewish gangster gave a grunt of agreement.

"Alright. Now, also we've been friends. How much better is it when we are friends?" Alfie contemplated drowning the little smirking Italian in a barrel of rum for his patronising lilt, but instead joined in with all his false smiles.

"Oh, it's much better, mate," Alfie turned to his second in command, pointing at the paper in his hands. "You write that down."

Darby continued to talk and Alfie continued to nod, and Ollie continued to scribble their words on a piece of paper.

Finally, Sabini stretched out his hand in a show of friendship. "And war against the gypsies." Alfie accepted it.

"The Cardinale girl, you leave her to me," said the Italian, a cruel smirk twisting his face.

Alfie shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Mate, I'll let you deal with the gypsy scum, sure thing. But we don't disrespect women here, alright?"

"That witch is not a woman, she's a blood traitor, an abomination that turned on her own family," Sabini spat the word like venom. "In my land, that calls for blood."

Alfie didn't particularly want to be the man onto whom Thomas Shelby would rain hell if something happened to Caterina Cardinale.

"Of that one, I wash my hands." The words left a bitter trace in Alfie Solomons' mouth, and with a cruel twist of thought he asked himself, did Judah feel this way when he sold Christ?   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


All Thomas Shelby wanted was to worm out of his fog-drenched coat and sink into his pillow, the promise of well awaited rest for a few hours very tempting and only a few short strides away.

Throwing open his bedroom door, Thomas was surprised to see his girlfriend sitting at his desk, one leg over the other, obviously waiting for him to come home. He closed the flimsy door behind him. If it were some other occasion he would've admired her striking figure, garbed in a dressing gown that fell down to cover her knees, pooling and shifting over her thigh when she faced him.

By the purse of her lips and the firm crease between her brows, he already knew the following conversation wouldn't have a pleasant end.

"Ada's been writing me letters."

"Yes, you seem to do that quite a lot these days," he deadpanned, shrugging off his coat onto the nearest surface, the tone of his voice revealing the exhaustion of the day. Caterina was having none of it.

"There are things you're not telling me, and don't you dare to pull that 'I don't want you to get hurt' card because I'm not buying it. You damn as well know I'll just find a way to dig it up myself," the brunette's eyes flashed dangerously in the dark.

"So save me some fucking time and tell me why you've been writing up a goddamn will."

"I'm putting my affairs into order, as any sensible man would. For the future." As calm and collected as ever, Thomas took off his jacket, too, rolling up the sleeves of his blue shirt with a tense precision.

Even completely livid at his stubbornness, Caterina couldn't help but admire his figure, propped up by the wardrobe behind him; the tight fit of the shirt around his upper arms, strands of dark hair wet from the weather and tousled, falling innocently over his eyes. But _oh_, he was far from innocent.

"For the future in which you might end up six feet under because you're a stubborn bastard that thinks he can do all on his own," Caterina murmured angrily, standing up to walk the lenght of the room.

Tommy narrowed his eyes slightly, not liking the way their conversation crossed into a fight with every new sentence. "When I took up that mission, I knew exactly what was at stake. I had no choice, it's not just Campbell who's in the game, but the fucking Government. There's no options, not even death is an option."

He bit down on his lower lip, one hand resting on his hip and other freely moving, firmly clasping the cigarette between thumb and index finger. "This thing I'm doing is for us, for this family and all people do is complain and demand things, with no fucking ounce of respect for the things I do to make us respectable," the volume of his words increased, and by the time he reached the end of the sentence he was yelling, knuckles of his hand turning white.

"Oh, I'm not going to be like Arthur and the rest of your brothers and listen to your every word like it's straight out of God's mouth, alright?" She said, her voice flat and cool.

"You don't like to remember it was both of us who started this," Thomas lifted his finger to point at her accusingly. "Who told me we should be thinking of expansion, as soon as possible, aye? You wanted to rip apart Sabini with your own hands for what he did to you, and so did I."

"This," he gestured vaguely, thinking of all the wheels set in motion for the last act. "Was inevitable. Sabini was inevitable if we wanted to expand southwards. And Campbell is something I'm dealing with."

"That's one thing." She raised her index finger dangerously near his cheek, only to press it as hard as possible into his shoulder. "You promised you'd get Arthur a treatment for all the mud and smoke in his head and then you dump him off in London, so he can snort his money away. What a lovely plan to turn your own flesh and blood into a rabid dog. And when he's too wild to control, will you take him out back and shoot him out of his misery?" She sneered, harshly and unforgivingly, watching as his eyes darkened dangerously.

Sometimes she forgot Tommy was a soldier, and when he grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to stand still while she glared at him, Caterina felt more defiant than ever. "Why are you so fucking stubborn, woman?"

"Someone has to be! Someone has to stop your delusional, one man crusade against every single fucking person in England who comes in your way," she exclaimed, wriggling out of his grip.

Neither of them spoke for several heavy moments, each occupying their own part of the room; him, back against the cold wall; her, leaning on the window still, looking everywhere except at her lover.

"The things you do are my concern to, because the future concerns both of us, together," she said, softer than the words that came from her mouth moments before.

With a repentant sigh, Tommy crossed the room, raising his hand to cup her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Ask me anything, anything at all besides this one thing I have to do, for us. I make a lot of promises, but this time I mean it. Epsom, and then we're done," he bent down to press a chaste kiss to her lips. "Then we talk about the future."

He wasn't not easy. Nothing about him was easy. Not loving him, not caring, nothing in him was willing to yield and neither did she want him to. All Thomas Shelby knew was dig, dig until his hands bled and eyes aches, dig until he found the gold and won the prize.

But Caterina, she hated to lose.

Instead of asking, Cat pulled him down to press her lips against his, one hand firmly on the back of his neck.

"I hate you," she whispered passionately. She hated her weakness for him, even as she arched her back into the curve of his hand, even as he pulled her top down, as his mouth reciprocated the same insatiable want, as they are replaced by stealthy, eager fingers, as he tugged and bit and whispered like a man long starved of touch.

And then, he has the audacity to chuckle against her mouth. "No, you don't."

_Too many buttons_, she thought, _too many fucking buttons_ as she went to undo the ones holding his waistcoat and it proved to be a difficult business once his hands started to wander, down her back and along her breasts, each time getting closer and closer to lifting up the robe wrapped around her body.

He takes his time, makes her shiver with anticipation, playing with the delicate silk as she frees him of his dress shirt. "If I knew an argument was all it took to have you this bold and —"

She shuts him up with a burning kiss. "Be quiet," the brunette hissed in a desperate hurry so very unlike her.

They hit the edge of his desk, moving like they're blind, and perhaps they are, until they finally find the bed and he leans over her, finally _seeing_.

"I'm still mad at you." He tasted like unspoken promises and tobacco, so very cruel and dangerous in his temptation as his calloused fingers sunk in the softness of her waist, pulling her down against him.

"Tomorrow," he nearly groaned against her lips — a noise so obscene that it turns her hips liquid — letting himself be lost in the frenzied battle of tongues and limbs, where there were no true winners, and yet, both of them felt like they won the world.   
  
  


* * *

Holding a sheet over her bare body, Cat tapped across the room to open the tiny window overlooking the garden, letting the cold spring air bite her rosy cheeks.

"What are you thinking about?" she whispered in the dark, once she found the way back to his bed — their bed now, she reckoned — quick to settle back into her lover's embrace.

This time he doesn't reach for the smokes on his bedside, and instead props himself on the pillow behind him. The woman that laid beside him was better than the smoke and the drink, and he was willing to drown in the possibilities of her, of _them_. A photograph would do her no honour that she deserved — he was determined to map out every inch of her with his lips, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the scars on her legs, every crevice and all the warmth. Determined to become familiar with all the birthmarks that littered her body like heavenly constelations. 

There's a saying, he remembers then, a fleeting memory from the days he longed to forget. He reaches in the dark, pulling her closer until the scent of mint from her hair invades his senses.   
  


"All quiet on the western front."  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> instead of incorporating the smutty bits in the chapters i've decided to publish them at the very end of the book, as sort of extra chapters for all you horn bugs

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for clicking! I’ve already posted this story over on Wattpad and Fanfiction.net so I thought why not here,too.  
Hope you enjoy the rest, and make sure to comment some feedback! Jana x


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